


Artifact

by empty_battlefield



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, American Politics, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Attempt at Humor, Belonging, Best Friends, Boy Scouts, Camp, Campfires, Character Death, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Children, Christian Character, Chronic Illness, Death, Environmentalism, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Grandchildren, Grandmothers, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Humor, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, I'm Sorry Victor Hugo, Illnesses, Les Misérables References, M/M, Major Illness, Non-Chronological, Non-Linear Narrative, Politics, Social Anxiety, Sorry Not Sorry, Summer Camp, Terminal Illnesses, Twenty Years Later, lol idk what else just trust me i guess??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empty_battlefield/pseuds/empty_battlefield
Summary: They meet at Boy Scout Camp. Greyland isthe weird kidand Isaac has a reputation to protect. As adults, they encounter each other again in a Radio Shack where Greyland convinces Isaac to take his phone number on the back of someone else's business card.Greyland has cystic fibrosis. And Isaac has a lot of difficult choices ahead of him.While living with Greyland (who never grew out of his oddness) and Greyland's grandmother (who wears no shoes except Crocs and moves furniture around when she's stressed) Isaac wonders about his own mother, who left his family for no reason. Their story is told non chronologically from their first meeting as eleven-year-olds to that fateful day when Isaac just really wanted a Snickers bar.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character & Original Male Character, Original Male Character & Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 19
Kudos: 12
Collections: That Writing Place Fic Drop





	1. Moxie

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gruesome Playground Injuries](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/698458) by Rajiv Joseph. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac gets stuck with the New Kid, who dreadfully enough, also happens to be the Weird Kid. They strike up an unlikely friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is "Sky" by Birds of Bellwoods.

"MOXIE"  
Decade One  
Eleven Years

_Oh God, can it be true?  
Why me, but more why you?  
When did it fall apart, when did we change?_

\--"SKY", BIRDS OF BELLWOODS

* * *

After boarding the Camp Pinestill bus for the fifth year in the row, Isaac had grown deeply bored of it. After taking up a seat near the back of the bus, but not _so_ far back so as to be grouped in with the ruckusmakers--Isaac assessed the aisles. Hitting his growth spurt before the rest of his peers had produced a long and lanky blonde boy. It was something he was proud of, although he instinctively knew that it had less to do with his own accomplishment and more to do with genetics or fate.

Ryan, who was short and fat and red haired, insisted with his voice at a scream, that “Eric threw up!” The bashful kid in question sat in the corner, and the tire-black rubber floor of the bus remained free of vomit of any kind. Ryan kept baiting the counselors to come on back, and eventually they did. 

Upon investigation, Martin McKenna (newcomers often had trouble remembering which one was his first and last name) found that no chunks had actually been blown. Ryan fought hard against a smile. McKenna instead scolded him instead for sitting on the floor of the bus.

“That’s not a seat. Get back in your seat.”

“This _is_ a seat,” the boy replied, giggling. 

Although Ryan now occupied the space between the back seats, gloriously illuminated by a square of dusty sunlight on the floor--Wyatt had encouraged Isaac to take it first. Isaac had coolly refused. Sitting there would brand him instantly as a belligerent to Martin McKenna. Ryan was already a bad egg. For all his years, Isaac was neither a bad egg or a good one. 

Isaac’s brother, Anthony, sat at the front. His proximity to “the big kids” allowed him to pretend he was one. He had an eye on Isaac always, and liked to see that Isaac was seated comfortably in the back, but not so far back, in the crowd of boys.

Right now, Anthony was helping a small kid in overalls start a box stitch with plastic string, somewhat of a forced camp-life pastime. It got old after a while. The uncertainty of the boy’s jittery fingers meant he’d never touched one before.

* * *

At campfire that first day, the box stitch boy was put with Isaac’s and Isaac’s friends. Timid and quiet, he didn’t seem to know much about what to do.

“Isaac, where’s the kindling?” Ryan asked. 

“We don’t have any. You’ll need to go get it,” Isaac said importantly. 

So the other boys entered the woods to look for tiny sticks. New Kid followed close behind, swatting at bugs that Isaac couldn’t see. 

Unduly skilled at lighting fires, Isaac could almost start one all on his own. The only thing stopping him was fear of retribution from McKenna. Instead, he often fantasized a scenario in which he’d be needed to start a fire for the other boys without the unit leaders. 

Their Unit Leader for the week was a counselor known only by his last name Collymore--preferred laizzie-faire over other means of controlling the kids. McKenna, on the other hand, erred towards authoritarian. McKenna was a also a huge proponent of the buddy system. Seeing Isaac tending to the fire by himself--his competence irrelevant--drew his houndlike attention. 

“He’s getting kindling,” Isaac said weakly when asked where his buddy was. The sole bystander, with no one coming up the walk--he declared he needed to stay with Isaac till the boys came back. 

“Will we be using a lighter to start the fire?” Isaac asked. “Or can we try to use stones this time?”

“I have a lighter on me,” McKenna said deferentially, peeking at his watch.

When the boys returned, their glances magnetized to the box stitch boy--Wyatt and the others took turns throwing him stony, pinched looks. They all carried skinny, knobbly sticks, the largest pile being in Wyatt’s arms. Wyatt stomped on weeds and poison ivy in front of everyone.

He deposited the pile at Isaac’s feet, and Ryan and the others followed suit. 

“Isaac,” McKenna said before getting ready to leave, “Greyland is gonna be your buddy from now on.”

Isaac looked fleetingly at the box stitch boy.

“McKenna--the fire.”

“Don’t worry--I’ll be back. Don’t try anything with the stones, Isaac.” 

Gruffly, Isaac began arranging the kindling. At first, Wyatt and Ryan helped, but eventually Isaac stared at their legs as they chit chatted and Isaac worked. Greyland badly wanted to help with what was really a one person job, _Isaac’s_ job. Working fast, Greyland had to settle for breathing down Isaac’s neck instead. 

“How much you need to put in there until it’s done?” Greyland asked. It was the first time the boy spoke--and he had a funny British sounding accent.

“Enough to fill the hole,” Isaac muttered, “and then some. I don’t know. You just know when there’s enough.” 

Greyland sat back on his sneakers. “How long did it take you to learn how to do that?” 

“Years,” Isaac said. His voice almost reached proud. He grappled the pile beside him, handing Greyland a bundle of Wyatt’s particularly long sticks. “Break these,” he ordered. “They’re too long.” Wyatt and Ryan continued to bustle in laughs above them all of unawares. Greyland diligently did so, making a pile of white tipped kindling.

McKenna returned, scornfully dragging Collymore in tow. Isaac and Greyland stepped away from their work, and McKenna stuck the long barrel of the lighter into the Lincoln Log center, and the flames bloomed blue then orange, engulfing the briquet and the Lincoln Log in matter of thirty seconds. 

“Ryan, you’ve got to help out. Can’t just sit there chit chatting,” said McKenna.

Collymore took the fire from Isaac. Sammy and Eric, who’d been on food prep duty, brought over their handiwork--and the waiting game began, eleven bright squares of aluminum trembling on the grate in the wavy smoke.

Greyland had taken out his box stitch lanyard again. His handiwork was messy and uneven--loose on one side and tight on the other. Inevitably, his column of stitches looked much akin to a kinked houseplant reaching for a dimly sunny sill. 

“Put that away,” Isaac said, and Greyland looked up at him in surprise. The two sat low on logs set up round the blazing grate--Wyatt had his butt parked on the prestigious only tree stump. Knees near his chest, Isaac informed him, “It’s plastic, you’re not allowed to have it near the fire. It’ll melt.”

“Really?” Greyland asked.

Isaac had never seen one _actually_ melt. “I don’t know. That’s what they say. If McKenna comes back, he’ll rip you a new asshole over it.”

Greyland looked miffed and shocked. “That’s not a good word.”

Isaac crinkled his brows. “Asshole?”

Greyland said nothing, but stuffed the quivering strings inside until they no longer poked through the gaps between the many zippers in his backpack.

* * *

Four boys to a cabin. Plumface and Ratnose made two—Isaac termed them these, as they did not want to introduce themselves. They both wore identical expressions--a sour one indicating that they’d been separated from another friend, and were pissed to be stuck with Isaac instead.

Because he, Ryan and Wyatt sorted into the same campfire and activities unit, Isaac decided it was alright that they didn’t sleep in the same cabin. His new retainer sat in his overnight bag, and he decided he didn’t want any of them to hear him lisping through it anyway.

The sullen pair tossed their bags upon the two bunks on the right, leaving Isaac to be stuck with New Kid Greyland, their fourth. 

Greyland was funny looking, with a strong jaw, and large teeth that stuck out over his lips and large glasses, through which he liked to squint at everything. Greyland was also brown. Hispanic of some variation, Isaac thought. The English accent he spoke with, Isaac also found strange. He had never before met someone who was both, and admittedly didn’t think there was such a thing. 

In the somewhat more intimate setting, Greyland’s mouth became a faucet. “This is a whopper of a cabin, isn’t it?” Greyland said, spinning himself in a dopey little circle in the tiny floor space of the center of the room. He tossed his backpack onto the other bottom bunk.

Historically, deciding who got the bottom bunk always involved a bit of roughhousing. Plumface and Ratnose had likely worked which of them got to take the bottom bunk while still on the bus. By claiming it so thoughtlessly, Greyland had gotten on his nerves. Though Isaac would never admit to being the kind of person who cared enough to insist they tussle. He pursed his lips and said nothing.

Sick with the feeling that Greyland was growing comfortable around him, hence his endless chatter--Greyland said, “These sheets, they’re soft as a baby’s rump. Soft enough even for my grandma to sleep on.” He made unfortunate eye contact with Isaac, which rose about in him a sharp, petty fear. 

“You sleep with your grandmother?” Ratnose said with chittering laughter.

“Not really. Don’t need to much anymore,” Greyland said frankly. “I wouldn’t be here with you now if I did, would I?”

Plumface and Ratnose exchanged fruity looks. 

Up on the top bunk, Isaac put sheets on the bed, while Greyland continued to babble.

“Are you two related?” Greyland asked abruptly. 

Struck dead, Plumface pointed to himself and then to his friend. “No.”

Greyland’s teeth slid over his lips even more so when he smiled. “Could have fooled me! Like Tia and Tamera, you two could be twins.”

“Tia and Tamera?”

“Like from _Sister Sister_ ,” Greyland explained. If Plumface/Ratnose were familiar--they pretended to be clueless. “Or Twitches. Get it? _Twitches. Twin_ witches. Quite a clever title, if you ask me. You can watch it on the Disney Channel,” Greyland disappeared and reappeared under the bed as he unpacked. Isaac tried to be as little involved in the conversation as possible. 

“The Disney Channel is gay,” said Ratnose.

Greyland didn’t seem to know how precisely to respond to this--as if it weren’t in his programming. He looked up to Isaac for clues, or context, or consolation. Another sharp, petty fear. From the top bunk, Isaac hadn’t averted his eyes quite quickly enough to pretend he wasn’t paying attention. 

Rather than feeling secondhand embarrassment, for Greyland, Isaac felt a burst of energy warping and twisting inside him. Greyland was a trainwreck, and Isaac couldn’t look away. It wasn’t only funny, but fascinating. Not a morsel of attention was not swept towards Greyland and his antics. With that came relief. Isaac had spent the night before coming to Pinestill packing and anxiously worrying. Tonight, Isaac bit into his retainers without a glance from anyone. 

Greyland planned to turn in early. He was unpacking his stuff for bed. Isaac wondered if he had a bedtime or something. 

Packed with Isaac were his summer reading assignments--as well as pages printed out from the internet, of his favorite comics. They were stored in a forest green plastic folder, warped from use last year in school. He could read without anyone knowing he was a weeb. Admittedly, the top bunk helped with that as well. He relaxed, his chest pressed to his chin and balancing the folder on his knees.

“What is _that?_ ” Plumface said loudly and obnoxiously. 

Isaac peered over the rail. In his arms, Greyland held a stuffed animal, if you could even call it that--it looked rather like a cartoon character, perhaps from one of Greyland’s TV shows. The plush fur of the toy had slept and squeezed and clenched itself into a packed, stained mat. 

“This is Mr. Erisolsprite,” Greyland declared. Innocently, he handed the toy over to them to look. Ratnose refused to touch it--but Plumface held the thing by its neck, miming its strangling, violent death. 

“Stop it! Stop it, stop it,” Greyland whined, and made a grab to get it back, and Plumface let up and let him have it. 

“Relax. It was only a joke,” Plumface said, still laughing. 

“Well it isn’t very funny, is it?” Greyland cried mournfully.

Greyland, looking at his watch, announced, “I need to go to the bathroom. You’ll need to excuse me,” he said. Only, the way he said it, it sounded like _bahr-throom._

They dissolved into laugher, and once Greyland stormed out, Ratnose shook his head. “I can’t take this kid. No chill _at all._ ” Ratnose tried to shoot a glance at Isaac. This too, he pretended not to notice. 

Plumface giggled. “He still sleeps with his stuffed animal—he’s freaking ten years old!”

“Anyway. That thing needs a bath,” Ratnose declared, and just as Isaac was about to get absorbed in his comic again, he heard Plumface giggle and saw him disappear under Isaac’s bunk. He put the folder carefully and briskly down, and saw Plumface lofting a water bottle over the plush on Greyland’s bed, threatening to tip a ribbon of water down onto his sheets.

“Quit that,” Isaac said, only halfway down the ladder of his bunk. 

Ratnose and Plumface snickered. “Coming to your husband’s aid? That’s the gayest thing I’ve heard today, Isaac, and we’re at a fucking boy scout camp,” Plumface said. 

Isaac, through hot cheeks, blowed out in a whisper, “I don’t want _you_ to get us all in trouble. You think that kid won’t tattle first chance he gets?”

Isaac had a sharp hold on Plumface’s chubby wrist. He wrenched it out, capped the bottle. Plumface made a rapid swipe at Greyland’s toy--so did Isaac, but he wasn’t fast enough. It sailed across the room, nearly kissing the spackle ceiling, and before he knew it, Isaac was the monkey in the middle of a tossing game between Plumface and Ratnose. The pair were howling.

With his hands afly Isaac had cornered Plumface. “Fine. Have it,” and punted the plush into Isaac’s chest, effectively winding him.

“We’re going to the girl’s cabins,” Ratnose crooned leniently. “You wanna come?”

They asked only mockingly--because they knew he wouldn’t be interested. Isaac straightened up. “As much as I hate this place, I don’t want to get myself thrown out,” he replied coolly.

“Suit yourself,” said Plumface. And with that the two of them left.

Isaac stared at Greyland’s toy. A new mudprint embossed it. He rubbed at it meagerly with a corner of his shirt, to no avail.

The lock turned loud in Isaac’s ears. It was Greyland returning from the bathroom. 

The toy felt hot in Isaac’s hands. Had he stayed out of others’ fucking business, this problem wouldn’t be his. He clambered up the top bunk, and shoved Mr. Erisolsprite into the crack between the mattress and the wall. 

Greyland let out a dramatic sigh, and in noticing that the boys were gone, asked dumbly, “Where’d the other boys gone off to?”

Isaac’s heart was pounding. “They went out.”

“But--you’re not supposed to leave the cabins before six thirty AM or after curfew, unless there’s an emergency--”

“They just went _out_ , okay.” Isaac glared at him. 

“Oh--alright,” said Greyland, submitting to Isaac’s best authoritative air. He fussed round with his bed before getting in it, and--

“Where’s Erisolsprite…” he mumbled, and Isaac staunchly pretended not to hear him until Greyland called up, asking for his help.

“Um--maybe he fell under the bed?” said Isaac. He cringed at his own use of _he_ and not _it_.

“No…” Isaac descended from the bottom bunk and began lamely looking in bags, stooping over to pitifully investigate clearly empty corners.

“I don’t see him,” Isaac said dubiously.

“My mum and dad gave him to me,” Greyland warbled. “And if I lose him, Grandma will be livid…”

Isaac didn’t know what _livid_ was, but he continued his pretend search, guiltily. When Greyland’s back was turned--investigating a corner they’d circled four times already--Isaac gave in and produced Mr. Erisolsprite from the top bunk. 

Brightened, Greyland grabbed the toy from Isaac before he could give it over. “Where did you find him?”

“Uh. There.” Isaac pointed to a corner of the room they’d most certainly checked before. 

“Thank goodness,” said Greyland. It was then that he examined the footprint with a faint “oh.” He pawed at the stain with a thumb. No luck, of course. “I might have thought you boys hid him on me as a practical joke. Did you?” 

“Yeah,” Isaac confessed meekly. “It was just a joke.”

Greyland clucked his tongue. “My cousin John plays jokes on me rather often. He’s fourteen. I don’t think it’s funny, but I suppose that’s part of the point.”

“Sorry,” said Isaac mutely.

“Thank you. You’re forgiven. Anyway. I couldn’t imagine losing him forever,” Greyland babbled on. “He’s special.”

“ _Special?_ ” Isaac coughed out. He didn’t _want_ to laugh at Greyland, and strongly resisted the urge to do so. 

“Yes,” Greyland replied, clutching the stuffed animal close to his chest. “I’ve lived with Grandma since I was eight. But he’s from before, when I lived with Mum and Dad.”

“Where _are_ your parents?” Isaac asked. He didn’t want to directly ask where they’d run off to.

Greyland’s eyes rolled up, and he pointed at the ceiling.

Isaac’s face leaked confusion until the realization hit him like a big dumb brick. He supposed Greyland’s Gran was religious or something. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Isaac said flatly.

“It’s alright. I forgive you.”

Isaac ascended to the top bunk. Greyland prepared for bed. Isaac felt New Kid’s eyes flit to him multiple times. Greyland had definitely grown comfortable around him. Isaac, settling back with his comics, had successfully sent Greyland the message that there would be no more talking. 

“Goodnight, Isaac. Can I shut off the lights?”

“No. I’m still reading.”

“Oh,” said Greyland. “Alright. Good night, then.”

“G’night.” Isaac’s retainers were in, and he didn’t plan to speak to him after that.

* * *

Hours after Isaac fell asleep, kinked at the neck and torso in the cramped upper bunk, amidst loose papers slipped from his folder, he awoke to a noise. When he opened his eyes, the first thing come into his focus was a blurry yellow battery-operated nightlight sitting on the floor by Greyland’s bed in the darkened room. By this light, Ratnose and Plumface were visibly not yet back from the girls’ cabins. 

It was coughing noises that woke Isaac up. As he repositioned himself, a sheaf of pages escaped through the bars and sailed in a plume to the floor. 

“Fuck.” 

The coughing did not halt, and when Isaac clambered down the ladder to scoop them up, Greyland was sitting up in bed, his elbow poised dumbly at his mouth. He had his glasses on. Violent coughing was making Greyland’s face all ruddy. “Sorry for all the racket,” said Greyland.

Isaac’s face was still. “Are you alright?”

With a drop of Isaac’s stomach, he realized he’d left his retainers in. Greyland didn’t speak--but rather nodded, and gave a jovially cartoonish thumbs up. “It happens, once in a blue moon. Grandma keeps telling me I don’t breathe too good lying down, and that I ought to sleep sitting up instead.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Isaac asked. 

“Oh. I have cystic fibrosis,” said Greyland. 

“Is that like diabetes?” Isaac asked. “My cousin has that.” 

“Um—no,” said Greyland unevenly, and took a swig of water from his bottle. “It’s like I’ve got bad lungs. And my body’s clogged with mucus. And I’ll likely take a time out while the rest of you lot are playing sports.”

“Oh.” Isaac couldn’t help thinking that if Greyland couldn’t participate, how many people wouldn’t be all that upset by it. 

“I lied to you before,” Greyland said in a shamefully low voice. His round face was inconceivably troubled. “When I said I was going to the bathroom, I wasn’t actually _going to the bathroom._ I was going to the med cabin. I’ll go there every night. You don’t need to accompany me,” Greyland added uncomfortably. “Just don’t say anything to the other boys, when I say I’m going to the bathroom.”

There it was again, _bahr-throom._ “I won’t tell anybody,” said Isaac, climbing back up to his bed, leaning over the rails. 

“Swear it?” he said, holding out a pinkie. Isaac took it with his own spidery little finger.

He fished out the box stitch from where Isaac had told him to stuff it earlier that day. “I’m no good at this thing. I dare say I suck at it,” Greyland mourned. “How’d you get your stitches to be so tight?” Greyland mourned.

“My...stitches…?” Isaac didn’t do lanyards too often anymore. Nobody did.

Pointing to the corner of the room, the boys glanced at Isaac’s camp backpack where a few of his kiddie creations hung. They made good zipper holds, anyway. “It’s nothing. This stitch is easy--I’ve seen six year olds do it.”

“I suppose I’ll get it eventually,” Greyland said flatly, starting a new weave--one brightly colored plastic thread crossed over each other to create a mat. 

“All you need to do is pull them a little tighter. Then they’ll look so much better.” Wringing his hand through the rails, Isaac’s wrist ached, but he beckoned Greyland to hand over the box stitch. 

Greyland did so, uncomplaining. Climbing up the ladder, he plopped on the far end of Isaac’s bed uninvited. 

“This stitch is fine. You just gotta pull a little harder—“ Isaac yanked the four strings, clenched across several knuckles all at once— “do that every time, and it won’t look like a three year old did it.” He handed it back to Greyland, who tried another stitch right away. 

Perhaps thoughts went round Greyland’s head like pinballs, for then he said, “I’m going to be a pilot someday. Fly airplanes. I have a list of places I’d like to visit, I think. I’ve already flown to Memphis, last summer. Is there anyplace you’d like to visit?”

“Alaska,” Isaac said right away.

“Ooh. I never thought of that one. That’s good, good for seeing some Eskimos.” Greyland pulled Isaac’s spare blanket over the crown of his head, make-believing it were a fur lined hood. “What made you pick Alaska?”

“None of your business,” said Isaac. “It’s stupid.”

“Who says?”

“My brother. And I said none of your _fucking_ business.”

Greyland must have seen his error in pushing the topic, and that it now caused his new friend to be uncomfortable. “Look, I didn’t mean to be a bad comrade. Grandma says I prattle too much.”

Greyland asked nothing else. He picked up the lanyard again, wrenched it. “Like this?”

“Yes, except now you got one twisted.” Isaac poked the side, at a tiny plastic string twisted over itself. “You gotta take it out now.” Isaac took it back, undid Greyland’s weave, corrected the string, pulled it taut again, started another. “Double check to see that they’re all straight before you start pulling. See?” 

The lanyard now back in his hands, Greyland tried another, and tugged with anxious force, his elbows aloft in the air. Isaac inspected, and approved. Greyland beamed. 

After completing a few more careful stitches, “just to cement it in my noggin” Greyland said, “I think you dropped one of your worksheets there.”

While Isaac retrieved the last of his comic printouts from a lonely dark corner of the room, Greyland rustled in his sheets, trying to arrange the pillows behind his back in a way that propped him up comfortably. 

“Just take the ones off Plumface and Ratnose’s beds,” said Isaac, holding the loose page flush against his chest.

Greyland looked about. “It wouldn’t be right to pilfer from our cabin mates--”

“They’re not coming back tonight,” Isaac cut him off. “They went to the girls’ cabins.”

“Oh--did they at least invite you to tag along?”

“It wasn’t my scene, so I didn’t go,” Isaac answered, deadpan. Pinched in his fist were the corners of two pillows.

Greyland’s mouth was slightly open--his prominent overbite on full display. He nodded gravely. “That was--very capital of you, Isaac.”

“Sure,” said Isaac. He wasn’t sure he was. Mr. Erisolsprite returned to mind. He decided he wasn’t. Once Greyland accepted the pillows, he ascended to the top bunk again. A glasses case closed with an egregiously loud snap. 

In the darkness, Greyland’s voice rang miniscule. “Isaac?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for not letting me fly solo, there. You didn’t have to do that.”

Isaac’s insides rustled against one another. “It was nothing.”

After a pause, Greyland said, "I don't know if you're aware of this, but—well, as Grandma likes to put it—getting along with the other boys isn't really my strong suit. So, it means a lot that someone with as much moxie as yourself, would take kindly to some shy person, like _my_ self."

Greyland, shy. He was anything but. Isaac wondered how aware of this he was. “What’s moxie?” he asked inconsequentially.

“It’s sort of like gall,” Greyland answered. Isaac also didn’t know what gall meant, and his silence told Greyland so. Backtracking, Greyland answered, “But it’s more like—a swagger that means nobody bothers you. Probably because you already are who you are. It’s like strength of character.”

_Strong character,_ Isaac thought. He was not a _strong character_ at all. Not one marked for ambition, or renown, either. Or destruction, or fall from grace. Isaac was as ordinary as ordinary got. It was Greyland who really had moxie, even if it did him more bad than good. They were Greyland’s words--they didn’t have to be his. Greyland said it, and Isaac wanted to believe it, and he thanked him anyways.

"And I hope that you don't let your brother's chagrining get to you, either," he added sourly. 

“He’s the one who taught you the box stitch, anyways.”

“Well, he taught me wrong. You did a much better job,” said Greyland bitterly. 

Isaac felt a pleasant thrill. 

“Anyways." Greyland coughed. "Well, nighty-night, Isaac."

"'Night."

* * *

Once again, Isaac roused from sleep by noises. 

He forced his eyelids to open. 

Bustling about under him was Greyland, just beyond the railing of his bunk. Isaac peered down. Greyland looked about ready to hustle out the door. 

Sitting up fast, Isaac’s head smacked hard against the ceiling, and he felt around for plaster dust. None such had been produced, luckily. Isaac swore. Greyland winced. Isaac asked, “What time is it?” Perhaps the alarm hadn’t properly gone off. 

Assaulted by the question, Greyland answered slowly, “Six thirty. You’re not unpunctual.”

Wake up call was at seven. A dull ache settled into his head and only then noticed his quietly pounding heart. Plumface and Ratnose were not present. They’d likely been caught. Despite this, Greyland had replaced their pillows and made all their beds with a flawless, careful hand. 

“Where are you going?”

Greyland slung his bag over one shoulder. It was so robust, it made him look like a tortoise. He was wearing overall shorts like yesterday. “I’m down to the med cabin,” he said in a slow, awkward way. “There’ some medicine I’ve got to take before we go off today.”

“You’re going without a buddy?” Isaac said. He had hopped down from the top bunk--completely obviating the need for the ladder--and began to locate yesterday’s clothes, disposed of in an unceremonious pile. He asked Greyland to turn around. 

Speaking to the wall, Greyland replied, “They’ve never made a fuss of me going by myself so far...”

Isaac shoved his feet in his shoes, and wrung his index finger round the mouth of the sneakers, picking out the pesky folds. He threw things into his backpack, clearing the floor of the belongings he’d thrown about when he’d settled in less than twelve hours ago. 

“Do you think we’ll miss pledge of allegiance?” said Isaac as he and Greyland walked towards the door. 

Greyland, only now catching on that he had company, smiled sidewardsly and said, “I don’t think so. But maybe. I’ve never been to one before. Does it take long?”

“You’ll be fine. It’s five minutes long. You know the pledge of allegiance, right?” answered Isaac.

“Of course I do!” cried Greyland, miffed. “Do you?”

“Yes. I just hope we miss it anyway.”

“You think you’ll be finished with that thing by the end of today?”

Greyland held the lanyard in his hands. The plastic strings, deep green and bright yellow, hung like tentacles, tickling their calves. The counselor who doled him out his strings had cut Greyland’s first benevolently long, so that they bobbed in the grass as they walked, dragged if Greyland didn’t hoist his elbows to breast level. 

“Not finished. But I plan to make a good headway of it. Why don’t you do some while you wait,” and Greyland handed it over to Isaac. “It’s going to take a while.”

“You sure you want me to? I go really fast,” Isaac said. 

“They cut me a lot of string,” responded Greyland.


	2. The Society

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac and Greyland's first meeting after eleven years. Much to Isaac's alarm, Greyland brings him home to meet his revered grandmother, Jade. Bitching about corporate America occurs. Jade corners Isaac for a covert conversation.

  
"THE SOCIETY"  
Decade Two  
Twenty Two Years

_And I'm sorry that I, didn't keep us in touch  
I didn't sit missin' you, not all that much  
And I'm sorry I let you go  
The youth I used to know—_  


* * *

Dumbly enough, Isaac had gone to Radio Shack to pick up an external plug in floppy disk reader. It plugged into the USB port of his computer—the Rosetta stone for the disks now akin to ancient cuneiform slabs. 

Halfheartedly, he’d explained it all to the kid behind the counter—only because he was so earnestly asking. In response the cashier bobbed his head up in down, all in feigned interest, which made the experience all the more worse. It wasn’t a fuss, but the cashier kid Greyland was making it so. 

It took but a few moments to mold together the two faces, the fragment of a memory and the present moment they inhabited. Like putting a smaller piece of clay with a larger one, over the course of their encounter they merged. Greyland asked what brought him here.

Here came the time when Isaac awkwardly surrendered the details of what had quickly become his new pet project. There was an old box of floppies his father had kept for years in the house he grew up in. Variously titled “Delirium RD”, “goodyear 1988,” or “boys.” _Delirium_ was a movie his father had scripted. Goodyear was the company his mother used to work at, as a secretary. And the floppy sparsely titled, “Boys” he presumed contained pictures of him and his brother Anthony when they were young.

Those latter parts, of course, Isaac refrained to divulge.

Greyland smiled dreamily. He said, “Let me know what you find on yours. My grandmother actually has a lot of floppies in the house—maybe you could comb through hers as well?”

For a cashier wearing a too-tight red polo and a labelmaker-printed nametag, Greyland was very forward. The image of his ten-year-old self made this hard to reconcile. The goofy child that had been universally othered for his naivety and his overenthusiasm and his lack of knowledge about sex or the world. Plus, his medical condition. Isaac wondered what that childhood illness had been, now that it was on his mind. Greyland didn’t look sick nowadays. The linchpin between the two images was Greyland’s mangled teeth, now corralled into adult braces, the clear kind.

As much as Isaac saw this coming, even still he managed to fumble on his answer. “It’ll depend on their size, but yeah. Sure.” It sounded gawkier in the air than he’d imagined. He tacked on, to let Greyland know he was serious: “We can definitely try.”

It was very obvious that Greyland was gay. Looped into his cargo work trousers was a rainbow-striped belt, for God’s sake. Even without Isaac being the target of his advances, he had made it shamelessly obvious. Isaac’s mind inadvertently beckoned the image of Greyland alone box-stitching away, regardless of the common fashion. 

Greyland snapped his fingers in what was almost a theatrical gesture. “Right. Forgot about the different diameters. Maybe you ought to round _this_ side of the counter. Where do you work?”

“J.B. Weld.” It was a part time position. Isaac didn’t mention this. He also worked at Wendy’s—again, a part time position. J.B. had him in the warehouse, loading and unloading shipments. Like many people in passing, Isaac invited Greyland to believe that perhaps he held a paid internship there to bulk up his resume. 

“Nice,” was all Greyland said. “Are all the floppies you have three point fives? We only carry externals for three point fives. And we only have three brands, I’m afraid. Since its nowhere near our most popular product.” Isaac thought Greyland smiled at him coyly. 

“What _is_ your most popular product?” Isaac asked, playing into Greyland’s game.

“I’d say the iPhones. Considering half my job is wiping clean the notes section of obscenities the kids like to leave.” Greyland answered offhandedly. Now they stood in the far corner of the store. From there he gestured to the islands at which tester cell phones were mounted and colorfully advertised. People and families in the mall aisles stalked briskly past, a choice few giving up a fraction of their attention with a fleeting glance. “Or resetting the testers after a passcode has ben applied and the phone has been locked for forty years.”

Isaac’s attention shifted to Greyland’s coworkers—two girls in folding chairs playing Cat’s Cradle with a string of electrical tape, hopelessly devoid of its original purpose, as folded over on itself as it was. They only pretended to be interested in this activity. Greyland’s advances towards Isaac were the real time-passer. Greyland was aware of this. Isaac felt like an animal in a zoo.

For Isaac to sympathize was clearly Greyland’s expectation. So he said, “They only want to be consequential. Did you ever think maybe you were taking that away from them?”

Blankly, Greyland stared at him. Hopefully he took it that Isaac was making a dumb joke. His smirk froze—then began wilting. “So, right. We only have three brands. Take your pick,” Greyland said at last. 

It didn’t take long for Isaac to choose. In his online research, he had narrowed his preference to one of four brands—only one of which was zip-tied to the wall in Radio Shack. He had Greyland pull that one from the back of the store. Brazenly now the pair of female coworkers were each wrestling with their smile.

Greyland did not hand over his purchase right away. “I don’t have a business card—” Greyland took a card from a leaning stack on the counter, and began writing his phone number on the back of it. “I’m only the unofficial manager of the store, as of yet. So you can call me if you have any problems.” He cued for Isaac to flip the card to its printed side, which he did. “And if I am for reasons completely unrelated to this encounter terminated from my unofficial managerial position, _she_ is who can speak to the reason.” It was the work phone and fax—because apparently some people still have a fax—for a woman named Louise Yi, _official_ manager of the Shakeswater Mall Radio Shack. 

“Thanks.” Isaac found it hard to believe that becoming _official_ manager of the Shakeswater Mall Radio Shack Location would be his chosen career, as opposed to a stint between semesters at school meant to scrape up a bit of money for the mourned over too-expensive textbooks his university was calling for.

A feeling of dread and self awareness that did not exist when the girls were absorbed in the electrical tape cloaked Isaac instantly. He quickly felt hot under it. 

Isaac still held the card, without having put it away. In his eyes he held a look of itchy anxiety—which Greyland caught onto while handing over the singular item, bundled in a superfluous amount of plastic packaging. Greyland’s expression changed instantly. All his moxie evaporated, and a quiet embarrassment replaced it. He tore off the receipt and gingerly handed it to Isaac. But Greyland had withdrawn his hand too fast; the slip fluttered to the floor. “Sorry,” he muttered. Due to his short stature, he leaned over the counter, legs probably floating, to see where the receipt had fallen. 

Still twitchy, Isaac picked it up and stuffed it in the bag. He pocketed Greyland’s “business card.” “I’ll call you,” he reassured him. He certainly didn’t want Greyland to think that reaching out to him was a mistake, for to Isaac, it certainly hadn’t been. 

Greyland’s moxie-laden smile rapidly returned. “Cool.”

Somehow, this trite response, with its complete lack of grovelling thankfulness, made Isaac feel sour again as he left.

* * *

They had gone out a number of times before Greyland invited Isaac over to his house for dinner. That night, his grandmother was a special meal that infrequently made appearances at the dinner table. Skipping out on plans already made with Isaac would have been rude, but Greyland really didn’t want to miss it. So that was how he’d reserved an extra seat and an extra serving for Isaac, and Greyland figured he need not give up either thing. 

Greyland had no siblings and his parents were dead, and Isaac tried to convince himself that this was a good thing. He reasoned with himself that since Greyland’s grandmother was the only other family he was close with, it was better that he only had to make a good impression on her. Upon more thought, he decided it was actually _worse_ , because if Greyland’s Gran didn’t like him, despite his best efforts, he and Greyland were effectively over. 

On their porch his fingers froze, but he was sweating still. He was wearing one of five dress shirts that he owned—Greyland had already seen them all at least twice. When Isaac had brought to Greyland’s attention his anxiety about coming over, he had hoped that Greyland would call off dinner and reschedule. Instead, he lent Greyland a pair of suspenders that Isaac had voiced appreciation for on one of their previous dates. Isaac was not a suspenders guy, and he did not feel “lucky” wearing them, as Greyland hoped he would fee. Instead he felt horribly aware of them. Isaac’s nervousness, a finicky thing, was never boisterous enough to draw the concern of anyone—yet still restless and rebellious enough to make Isaac frequently and silently miserable. 

Greyland’s grandmother cautiously opened the door and greeted Isaac all at the same time. “Hello, hello. Come on in, we’re glad to have you.”

“Thanks for having me, Mrs. Jimenez. Or—Ruiz—” Despite all his rehearsal in the car, he had forgotten to ask which of the names belonged to Greyland’s grandmother. In a moment of glaring stupidity, he realized he could have asked on _any_ of the previous dates they’d had. Perhaps Greyland’s grandmother would dreadfully pick up on this. 

“Neither,” she said insipidly, whilst bringing the door to a shrieking close. “Please call me Jade.”

That imperative—as opposed to a friendly invitation—stripped Jade’s altogether pleasant greeting of all its welcome for Isaac. Without realizing it, he became even more wary of her.

Upon her arrival at the top of the landing with Isaac, Greyland stepped aside to return to Jade her rightful throne at the stove. He hugged Isaac unceremoniously, and returned to his ultimately less glamorous post at the kitchen table, cutting up vegetables. 

“Greyland. I need water for the rice,” Jade said in her quiet way. Greyland got up wordlessly and measured it out. 

“Can Isaac help me with this?” He meant the vegetables. It was the first time he’d spoken without first being spoken to.

Jade snickered. “It’s not something you really need help with. But if he needs something to keep his hands busy.”

Greyland passed a bowl of peppers toward him with an echoing clang of metal against metal. “Diced,” he said. “So like this.” He tilted his cutting board to show the squared off greens—which inevitably resulted in a choice few to be sent tumbling onto the tablecloth and bouncing to the tile floor. 

Jade peered over from the stove. “Don’t you let them run away,” she warned stoically. 

Isaac appreciated the sacrificed pieces, because his knowledge of cooking was largely limited to the microwavable. They continued to work in a focused silence, which Isaac found uncomfortable but Greyland seemed to inhabit.

Jade wore an overall that ended in a skirt. She wore leggings and a blouse underneath it, Crocs on her feet, and large round wire glasses. Her hair was long, and thick, and hanging loose. Its stiff, elderly quality let it shiver as she pumped her arm in the mixing pot. She looked a bit like a somber child. Once Isaac saw this in her, he stripped her somewhat of her formidable air.

Dinner culminated in a meal and the burners died. They sat at the table—Isaac across from Greyland, alone on his side of the table. Greyland ate down a load of pills before eating. Isaac asked how they’d reconnected, and Greyland told her about Radio Shack. Before he’d even gotten to the good parts of the story, Jade had snorted heavily. Isaac had to ask what was so funny. 

“Greyland has gone out with quite a few people he’s cashiered for. It seems to be a bit of a hunting ground for him,” explained Jade.

 _People_? Had Greyland neglected to mention that he was bisexual? Inside he felt primitively raisined. He knew it was biphobic to feel that way, but Isaac was already feeling threatened since the fact was that _he hadn’t even been the first._ Greyland looked irreverently embarrassed.

“Greyland, that hole needs fixing,” said Jade, changing the subject. 

“I know. I’m going to,” said Greyland. There was a series of moth bites, tiny pinpricks of holes, near the neckline of his shirt. Retisciently he tugged at his collar.

Greyland then said to Isaac, “At that time I had no idea that you had such an intense interest in electronics. It had never came up I guess, when we were in camp.”

“Well, we weren’t really allowed them there, were we?” Isaac replied pointedly. Pineskill had championed a “screen free environment” and all contraband cell phones, Nintendo DSes and the occasional Tamagotchi were always found and confistated eventually. So it was not a surprise that it had never come up between them. 

“Right, Pineskill,” said Jade absently, nodding. “He wasn’t the one who tormented you there, was he?” asked Jade.

“Yes, that’s the one.” Greyland flashed a roguish smile his way. 

Jade raised an eyebrow at Isaac. “I suppose that was your way of letting him know you liked him, yes?”

The tormenting had never been about any crush he’d had on Greyland. Already he’d given up trying to retrospectively decide if he ever had a crush on him at the time at all. He frankly didn’t even know if now what he was feeling for Greyland was romantic affection. There were verbal edicts concerning what to do if you like someone. But not what to do if you think you like someone, but aren’t sure, nor any edicts upon which you can figure out which of the two it is, liking or mere loneliness.

“Probably,” he answered. “It was stupid.”

“Stupid, yes,” said Jade with a knowing air. Isaac breathed it in, and choked on it silently, feeling the insides of him being nearly vacuumed out.

“Good thing we worked that one out,” said Greyland with a laugh.

Color Isaac uncomfortable. “I already told you I was sorry about all that.” Initially, when they’d first reminisced about Pineskill together, Isaac had apologized for this cruelty unprompted. Jade said he didn’t recall any of it. 

Greyland said, “For what?” 

“The tormenting,” said Isaac dumbly. 

Greyland laughed. “Haha. Consider yourself forgiven.” He stabbed his fork into the bowl once more. 

“Thanks.”

* * *

All of Greyland’s furniture appeared antiquated. Greyland’s room used to be his mother’s when she was a girl, and all the furniture used to be hers. Originally the dressers and nightstands were white, but a family friend had painted it all dark blue when Greyland moved in with his grandmother as a young child. Greyland, an eight year old, had chosen the paint, and he mourned it to be the primary regret of his life.

Under the sickly green colored glow-in-the-dark stars above Greyland’s bed, they bitched about corporate America. It was a highly frequented topic of theirs. But it was mostly Greyland who held righteous ideals—Isaac was simply frugal and didn’t like paying for anything with money he barely made. Sharing items among others, however, was the common denominator between them both. 

Principally, Isaac didn’t mind sharing certain belongings if it meant he didn’t have to spend as much overall for what were begrudgingly, modern necessities. Printers. Washers, dryers. Refrigerators, maybe. Lawnmowers. Children’s clothes, case in point—although though he never wanted any. 

He spoke to Greyland while peering into a key chain that had an eyepiece like a kaleidoscope. Instead of glittery overload, its center had Greyland’s name in it, his address, and Jade’s cell phone number. In case she lost him in a department store or something. When Isaac asked her where she’d gotten one of these from, she replied that she’d “sent for it”, an almost esoteric phrase from a bygone era of mail-order toys. 

“I just wish people would waste less. It shouldn’t be more cost effective to buy new than it is to fix what you have.” Recently Anthony’s printer had stopped running, and nothing Isaac’s inky hands could do would make it work again. Isaac had conceded to buying another. “You just might as well share things if you don’t use them all the time.”

He wished he could just win the lottery already. 

“Right. Like a commune,” answered Greyland. The word sounded distinctly radical in Isaac’s ears. “We grow our own food. It doesn’t get into the pockets of any shareholders that also happen to be benefactors of political campaigns or gay conversion camps. We’ll abolish money. We’ll trade goods and services instead. We’ll put everyone’s skills to use. I do one thing for you, you can do a different thing for me.”

What did either of them have, really? Isaac worked in a warehouse (and Wendy’s). Greyland was a disabled man working at Radio Shack. Neither of them had college degrees—but Isaac also didn’t have any student debt, which was the up end of never having gone to school.

“I don’t know what I’d be able to put forth. And how do I know I’m not being taken advantage of?” said Isaac. He’d become bored with the kaleidoscope, distinctly. He imagined it in a landfill somewhere, and it shocked and troubled him. Never to be dug up again. No archaeologist would seek it in their excavations. Nobody would consider it to be the pinnacle of early two thousands’ civilization. An iPhone with its screen cracked, maybe—but not a kaleidoscope with Greyland’s grandmother’s phone number in it. He nestled it in his eye socket again and honored it one last chance to enthrall him. “Plus—how come you care about our capitalism? You aren’t even American.”

“I am American, what are you talking about? And you don’t know. It’s based on the principle that people are good. And people aren’t good,” Greyland said all at once. “But. We can chuck out anyone that’s rude.” He smiled slyly. 

The interdependency that hung over all aspects of the commune incited primitive fear and self-preservation in Isaac. If he at least owned the washer or the dryer or the printer, he could have something to take with him when he left. “There’s no good way to know really, if someone’s good or bad, right? And if we kick them out, they lose their home and whatever money they put into the utilities. Nobody would take that deal. I wouldn’t even take that deal.”

“We’ll be the commanders of the place. Don’t think _you’ll_ be thrown out. Like I said. People aren’t good,” sighed Greyland. “What state would you want to set up shop?”

“Rural Pennsylvania. You’re close enough to society in case you need an escape from all the quiet. And I heard they’ve got low property taxes, so.”

“Oh, in our society I thought no one pays taxes.”

“Greyland, you can’t just _not_ pay your taxes,” said Isaac fretfully. “Anyway. I don’t know. I like this commune idea. I wanna see if I can put away a bit of money while sharing. I want to own some of the amenities, so I’ll have something besides debt to take with me when I decide I want to live someplace nicer than here.”

“Hey! You’re going to leave? I thought you wanted to live with me,” said Greyland playfully. “Where would you be going, Alaska?” 

Isaac didn’t like being subtly accused of being disloyal. “Maybe,” replied Isaac indignantly. “Especially if it’s a temporary thing, until we get out of our twenties,” said Isaac flatly. “This thing doesn’t need to be built to last.”

Greyland keenly peered into the kaleidoscope now. It seemed Greyland had pictured them living there indefinitely. Which made sense. He planned to live _and_ die on this farmland. Especially since the two events were so close together. “We can just build the commune in Alaska, if that’s what you want,” said Greyland softly.

“Sure. I mean, it _is_ imaginary.” Isaac knew that last bit hurt. He thought maybe people _were_ inherently good, but that they also got scared really easily. 

Greyland likely _felt_ hurt, but played it off as a joke, as usual. “Don’t remind me. Anyway. You said you’re sure you don’t want me to get you anything for Valentine’s?”

“No, I’m sure.” Isaac said. It was another one of his idiosyncratic frugalities. He’d made it clear he wasn’t buying Greyland anything, and that it had nothing to do with how much he loved him.

“Well, I’m getting Jade something.” Greyland said. “Could be you too.”

“No, thanks.”

They went to check on what she was doing in the sunroom. A thousand piece puzzle lay flat on the glass coffee table, hollowed out by the mere construction of its border pieces. A cluster of completion filled in the corner nearest Jade, who sat cross legged on the floor while a game show called _Catch 21_ carried on cheerily on television. Apparently she paid for the game show network. 

They joined her on the floor, and she assigned them each a cluster of like-colored fragments and a corner. Isaac examined his corner carefully, a grey bird and its eggs in the background of the image on the propped-up box. He put two pieces together right away, which earned a bubbling of compliments from Greyland and Jade. After that he didn’t find any more matches for a long time. 

A phone alarm went off, and Greyland excused himself to complete a few treatments, and retreated to the hall from which they came. Isaac remained on the floor with Jade, not speaking, just lingering with the repetitive headache of trial and error, trial and error, and error, and error. 

Jade was on a lucky streak, and had formed a jagged mass of pieces tenuously travelling together. Isaac appreciated her work while she tried to find the large cloud’s appropriate nook. “I do these a lot. They’re supposed to keep your brain young.” 

“Is it working?” Isaac asked her. 

“I don’t know. I like to think so.” She found the missing link, and created a sturdy peninsula on the corner border.

“I think so,” said Isaac. 

At this, Jade smiled and rolled her eyes. She did not have the accent that Greyland did. “You are too funny. Did you use any of that flattery on Grey?”

Isaac became quickly embarrassed. “I didn’t. But perhaps I should.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“Greyland’s getting you a Valentine present.” Isaac didn’t know if he should have divulged that—he merely hoped that it wasn’t a secret, rather than keeping his lips zipped and ensuring that it remained so. 

“I know. He does it every year,” Jade said. “He’s a nice boy. Don’t fuck him up.” Isaac’s eyes must have held shock, and Jade relished in it. 

“Do you know what he is getting you?” Isaac then asked. 

“Yes. But I won’t tell you what it is. Since you already decided that you didn’t want one of your own,” she said. She proceeded to laugh at her own joke, and although Isaac knew it was at his expense, he was certain that Jade did not in fact, hate him. Thus, he allowed himself a relieving smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, please leave a comment down below! It makes my day. Thanks for reading! <3


	3. Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac moves to Alaska by himself.

  
"MOTHER"  
Decade Three  
Thirty Years

_I swear we spoke last night, or did I dream?_

* * *

Isaac was always so close to having a problem, without actually having a problem. This was an issue for him, he quickly found.

Frequently, he walked around feeling like his chest was trapped in a vise, but it was not bad enough to warrant him to think something was wrong with his body. He’d spoken to an old friend of his, Ryan, once in a while. At one point in time he’d been brave enough to confide in Isaac that he suffered from terrible anxiety, and had been diagnosed with GAD. Isaac had to ask what that stood for—generalized anxiety disorder—he hadn’t known. On another occasion, Isaac had reciprocated, and told Ryan about the vise-like feeling, which he had before this told no one else about. He expected wholeheartedly that Ryan would understand. He did not. He only knew the constant uncomfortable feeling, punctuated by episodes of panic. He did not know vague discomfort. This was made clear when after Isaac’s confession, Ryan quickly turned the conversation back to himself. 

He looked out the window, and the land was glowing, the expanse of so much nothing, the rooves of some of the neighboring houses, their shingles and their gutters, the light from the dipping, semi-setting sun, the sheen of a plack on the glass windows next door. 

The time on the clock was eleven twenty one. Working made the vise go away—mere distraction was enough, no prescription pills were needed to fix the problem, which hypothetically, did not even exist. Working blew away the temporary mist, a fuzzy feeling in his head which accompanied the vise--both of which would have gone away on their own if Isaac waited long enough.

Isaac had never in his life pictured himself living in his own house on a street that had no name and no numbers to label the houses. In childhood--before coming to live with the Jimenezs--had lived always in apartments. When he grew older, he switched from living in an apartment with his father to an apartment with his brother. His name had been on neither lease. His location on the globe was captured by a series of numbers. Postal code, 72002-73. 94 83rd street. Floor 5, Apartment number 36. Mail box number 7441.

Isaac’s name was on this lease. He was only the fourth house on the street that had no name, situated by a giant lake, one of many in the area, many of which, including his lake, remained anonymous. Isaac could not picture the fact that this massive lake had no name. He had asked his next door neighbor about it, an old couple down the street whom he frequently visited. Mostly to help them with things, but he couldn’t take away from the fact that they liked having him around, and Isaac loved that they liked having him around, if only as a muscle or a handyman. But anyway, they did not seem very concerned or fazed at all that this lake was anonymous. There were many lakes that had no name, since they were really just parts of a larger lake, that had strips of land in between, and thus weren’t really separate lakes in their own right. 

Isaac decided this lake must have a name. He thought perhaps Rachel would do. Although that was a stupid thing to call a lake. Rachel. Perhaps Caroline would suit her better. No, it was certainly Rachel. 

Isaac fired up the band saw in his front yard, Rachel echoing him. She carried noises well, and he worried that she would put a megaphone to what he was doing, all the way towards the mother lake from which she was not considered a separate entity. But he sawed away, following his own greasy pencil mark round and round the wooden block. 

In the days from the apartment era of his life, he used to lug his band saw up to the roof of the building to do his woodworking. He’d let the hamster poop shaped shavings collect at his feet like skeletonized clumps of moss. Otherwise, some wisps sought asylum in the air--whisked away like pollen, the remainders of his art apt to germinate the world.

The hamster poo shavings need not be wasted, and Isaac planned to gather them up and somehow reattach them to the wings, like fluffy lining on some commercialized angel costumes. 

The title for this project would be, “Mother.” On the East coast, he and Greyland had collaborated on this project. When they announced to Jade the title, she was thrilled. She assumed “Mother” referred to the Virgin Mary, whom she believed she was intended to resemble. They did not correct her, so as not to disappoint.

Isaac’s biggest regret was that Mary was unfinished. He wondered if Jade still had it, or if she’d broken it up for firewood. Although Mary’s wings were under his band saw now, her body stood in Greyland’s garage. If Greyland had wanted to use Isaac’s unfinished work as firewood, he’d need to lug her into the backyard and hack through her with an axe. The very thought made Isaac jerk. Which, was dangerous with the sculpting knife in hand. Although Greyland getting rid of Mary was of course a possibility, in the five years he had lived in his numberless house in Alaska, he never brought himself to make a new Mary to wear the wings. If she was not already given away or hacked to splinters, he would just have to ask Greyland to send it over. 

The wings, he’d begun recently. The thought of Rachel announcing his sawing to the world unsettled him so, because he was not a real sculptor. He did not always sculpt. He worked in frenzies with long hibernation periods, and this was typical for him. He went months without touching a block of wood, playing cooties with it as a way of seeking asylum from a horrible, crippling art fear. And he did not finish things he started. He was not an artist. Just a man who worked at J.B. Weld, and occasionally hacked on wood because it made him feel like somewhat of a genius at times. 

He greatly feared his elderly neighbors would come round to check on the poor young hermit boy on their street, under the guise of concern but only wanting to be nosy. Isaac dreaded explaining. The wings were simply not all that impressive on their own--the way Mary was. He remembered the splinters of cut up CDs they planned to attach to her wings, before Isaac had even started sculpting them. They had been too distracted by the pretty flecks of aluminum through glass, those sharp objects. 

Greyland had promised, before Isaac left, to invite him to his college graduation party. But Isaac hadn’t received any word about it. Greyland would be out of school a year now.

The sky closed down, the way lights in the theater do for intermission. 

Isaac flicked on a single lamp from inside the garage whenever the sun went down, which was not often this time of year. On less maladaptive days, Isaac used the brief night to get a snack from inside--taking nature’s thieving of light as a sign, maybe from God, to take care of himself. Tonight he did not. He continued working, by the yellowy, hot lamplight, the shadow of his hand negating the lamplight. A series of surge protectors, each anchored into each other and stiffly knotted at places connected this single lamp to the wall.

Inevitably, this bit him in the ass. He’d cut himself with his small whittling knife, the blood felt before it was seen in the faint ticking of the yellow fluorescent.

When he went inside for gauze, his phone began to ring on the coffee table. He stuck his finger in his mouth, tasting watery silver. He would wait for the voicemail.

Greyland left a voice mail. Isaac immediately went to listen to it, but the outgoing call was interrupted by another incoming call, from Greyland again. 

This, he took as a sign. Taking his thumb out of his mouth, and wiping it dry from spit against the abrasive shirt he was wearing, he picked up the call. All the while, fetching the first aid kit and the tin can of cookies the old couple down the street had given him for continuing to mow their lawn just the way they liked it every summer.

“Happy birthday,” said Greyland.

“Thank you.”

How dare Greyland not take notice of his bleeding finger, from the other side of the phone. It really was quite rude of him not to say anything.

“Big thirty. Any plans to tear up the town?”

“Don’t think the Rosensons would approve,” Isaac replied. Greyland had heard all about the Rosensons, the family with both parents and several aunts and uncles holding positions in both the Homeowner’s Association and the school board. The old couple on their street initially became familiar with Isaac after the deplorable Rosenson mother campaigned against their lawn, which was not up to standard. They did not know who Isaac was, so he couldn’t really be on their bad side, although he hated them.

Greyland laughed, and said, “You think Jade would survive out there, if Mrs. Rosenson challenged her?”

“No. Mrs. Rosenson wouldn’t get past the overall thing. Nobody wears overalls around here.”

Or her Hispanic-ness, either. Isaac’s new town and nameless street was mostly white people.

It was here that something miraculous happened. The Greyland who did not invite Isaac to his college graduation party instantly evaporated. The Real Greyland, who he remembered to be sweet, and understanding, and loving, instantly replaced him. Greyland called in every year, and every year the cruel Brain Ghost Greyland eventually overshadowed him, and Isaac never learned his lesson. But Isaac’s birthday mothered a _new_ Greyland, crushing to bits the old Brain Ghost Greyland, who walked the streets half alive the other three hundred and sixty five days a year. 

That was not entirely true. The Jimenezs often called him on Christmas as well as Easter. Egregiously pastel colored, bunny themed, full of candy and chocolate, Easter felt like silly, fake holiday to Isaac. And when the Jimenezs called him then, it felt like a weak excuse to politely ask him if he wasn’t yet dead. Jade was Catholic, though--and he had to remember that Easter was not solely about him--it was about Jesus too. This was comforting to Isaac.

A dreading came over him, and he realized that perhaps he had only called when somebody died. _Jade_ could be dead right now. Were they calling to notify him, and demand he come home to bade her goodbye? Would they call if such a thing happened?

He knew this was an irrational thought. He thought it anyway. He held on to the sticky, abominable thing. 

“How’s Jade?”

“She’s well, thank you. Keeps bitching about you moving away. She’s in the next room, if you’d like to talk to her.”

“I probably should,” said Isaac. 

Folding up the gauze was hard to do with only one working thumb. The bleeding had stopped--it was nothing he couldn’t take care of on his own, at home. 

On the phone, he was not the endlessly fascinating Greyland Jimenez-Ruiz. The hurricane of a person, God’s lovingly sculpted, experimental creation. Nor was he the monster who ruthlessly cut people from his life and thus his graduation invite list, because he was qualified to do so. The person who could afford to slash his distant friend from his invite list, because he only invited anyone into his life for funsies, never out of human necessity. Greyland, at times, barely seemed to qualify as a human being. It was what made throwing stones at Brain Ghost Greyland so easy. But on the phone, he was shrunken back to human size.

“She’ll definitely want you to. She misses you a lot,” Greyland said. 

“I will, after I’m done talking to you. Also, do you still have the angel statue?” asked Isaac.

“I think so…” There was a bustling on his end, Greyland was opening his closet. The closet had a mirrored sliding door, and Isaac pictured their faces in the mirror, bellowing and trembling, and being replaced by Greyland’s clothes. “Yes,” Greyland said, “it’s in the closet still. It’s still here.”

“Good. I think I’ll pay for you to send it out.” Viscerally, Isaac had taken great immediate offense to Mary being resigned to _Greyland’s closet._ He didn’t know why--when he lived there, he complained frequently about her imperfections, and didn’t think she was ready to see the light of day anyway. Soon he remembered that it was Isaac, not long before he left, that had relegated her to the closet during one of his creativity’s long hibernation periods.

Greyland asked, “Why, are you still working on it?” He sounded accusatory. This was odd, since it was usually only Brain Ghost Greyland that said these sorts of nasty things. Real Greyland was supposed to be a respite. 

“Yes, I am,” said Isaac. “Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s not a problem. It’s just, she likes having her around. It’s like having a piece of you in the house.” Greyland was audibly smiling through the receiver. It felt like a statement too cheesy to be genuine, if Isaac was telling the truth. 

Greyland said, “I can totally send Mary to your address--or I guess, you’ll have to tell me where to send her.” He chuckled a bit out of awkwardness. “I’m glad you’re doing woodwork still. It makes me glad to hear.” 

This did not make _Isaac_ glad to hear. On the days he’d spent up on their apartment roof, back when he still lived with Anthony, he thought of himself as a sort of angel, or mother. It was his honest belief that there were at least several people who had climbed to the roof to kill themselves, only to hear the gnawing of the terrible bandsaw. With the grating sound providing a decidedly unsuitable environment for offing themselves, these souls chosen against the dreaded thing. At least, for the time being. And when they remembered the moment at which they had chosen life, their memory was colored inescapably with the awful sound Isaac’s grating bandsaw. A guilt during the extended periods at which he did not sculpt accompanied this daydream, for how many souls passed under his radar at those times?

In one fell swoop--Greyland’s comment had demoted Isaac from genius and savior and life-giver back to hobbyist. 

“What’s so funny?” Greyland asked. Isaac had let a laugh out while he was daydreaming, and Greyland was bustling about again.

“When I used to take the bandsaw up to the roof of Anthony’s apartment, we used to deter people from offing themselves I think,” Isaac said. “I mean, nobody offed themselves while we were up there, so I think at least a few were deterred.”

Greyland said, “I hope so, for their sake. Although I don’t know why you would want to think that.”

“Who _wants_ to think anything?” Isaac replied. “Oh, shit.” The wound had started to bleed again. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. I cut myself carving, and I hadn’t put pressure on it.” According to Isaac’s logic, the wound had begun to bleed again because he hadn’t compressed it enough, neglected himself. Not simply because wounds bled, that was what they did. 

Greyland had suggested Urgent Care, and Isaac shrugged him off. He’d only suggested it because neglecting to would make him an asshole. This, Isaac was convinced of. And because Greyland couldn’t see the cut for what it really was, he was apt to exaggerate its importance.

“Alright, I can’t make you,” Greyland ceded. 

The daylight returned as if the sun had temporarily lapsed behind a cloud. This was daily for summer in Alaska. Isaac’s head felt like a raisin, from the lack of sleep he’d recently been getting while working on Mary’s wings, taking advantage of the daylight. This was a common but bearable aspect of the everlasting sunlight that had become his current state of life. He had lit a candle during the dark hour. Now that the light was back, the reach of its trembling flame had shrunk. Isaac blew it out before he forgot it was still alight.

“What?”

“Blew out a candle, is all.”

“Oh.” Greyland gave up a wheezing sigh. His lungs were likely sclerosed beyond utter repair. “Jade wants you to come down for Thanksgiving, if you can.”

“Anthony’s got a wife and kid now, I don’t know if it makes sense to stay with him.”

“You’re never _not_ welcome here, and you can stay as long as you need.” Greyland answered testily.

Isaac lie on the couch with his face in one of its canvas pillows, the kind not made for sleeping on. The couch arm not shadowing enough of the searing new daylight. He could have risen from his slump to close the blinds, but he did not. “You still have all those CD’s we collected?” he asked. 

“I do, yeah. Tons. How many you need?”

Greyland assumed he wanted them sent with Mary. For Isaac, the question arose from the image of Isaac and Greyland cutting up CD’s in Greyland’s bedroom, in front of the sliding mirror. Of the painting tarp, taking turns diligently vacuuming the floor so as to protect Jade’s feet, although she wore Crocs in the house she bugged the two of them about it constantly. 

“Yeah, if you could throw as many in with her as you can, that’d be great,” said Isaac. 

“Sure. You want any floppies thrown in there too?” 

“No, keep them.” His floppy disk project had been a separate frenzy. The frenzies were another one of his nonproblems, that Greyland had innocently mistaken for a real hobby.

“Do you still have stars on your ceiling?” Isaac asked distractedly. 

“The stars? Yes,” said Greyland practically. “Are you drunk or something? Did you cut yourself while drinking?”

“No. I’m not drunk.” He in fact, wasn’t, but he doubted anyone’s ability to believe someone who says they aren’t intoxicated. “I cut myself because it was dark out.” Isaac said. 

“Okay.” Greyland laughed a bit, and chanced teasing Isaac a bit since he maybe wouldn’t remember it. “Seen any Inuit since the last time we spoke?”

“Nope.”

“No? How come?”

“I don’t know, I live in white people country. They probably know the Rosensons and don’t want to fucking run into them, lest Tina try to grill them about not having the right genus of hydrangeas.”

Hysterically, Greyland howled distantly over the other side of the phone. “I see,” he replied, his voice punctuated by laughs.

A burst of energy birthed Isaac’s joke. In conversation with Greyland, he allowed his thoughts to flow loosely from one to the next. It seemed as if he had no control over them, the way a drunk loses his verbal filter. Whether it was the frenzy ending, or his poor sleep, or the accumulation of all his nonproblems--he was starting to slip into sleep, as Greyland had elicited from him on so many other occasions. Isaac could not say that he was speaking so loosely on purpose, but Greyland sure had a way of making him feel like he could say anything and not get in trouble. 

“I’m tired,” Isaac said. 

“Get some sleep. Or drink some water.”

“Maybe.”

“Alright, I’m not there, I can’t make you.”

“You don’t gotta make me.”

“Are you upset about something?”

“Yeah.” That ought to have been obvious, but at least Greyland asked.

“Ready to come home yet?” he chanced in response. 

Isaac could strangle him. He thought about it a minute, “Yeah.” If Greyland really believed he was intoxicated, it wouldn’t matter.

“How come you’re upset?” Greyland asked. His voice was much more quiet, and had lost most of its remaining causticness. 

“Don’t know. Aren’t you ever just upset? I’m upset because I’m upset.”

“Did you at least find what you were looking for?”

“Of course not.”

Isaac fell asleep whilst still on the phone. When he awoke, eyes tearing, his cheek burning from the decorative pillows. The battery on his cell had died and Real Greyland merely lingered. The sun was glistening on the icy shell of the topsnow everywhere. 

Isaac didn’t bother with the band saw outside. Nobody would steal it. Not even Tina Rosenson cared whether he made art out of wood, sometimes.

But Greyland did, in a sense. To Greyland, he _was_ a genius. 

He called Real Jade, to ask her permission to return. Real Jade elatedly told him yes. 

He bought the tickets online. He would return before Greyland’s buggy lungs ate him alive, lest he feel guilty or regretful. Perhaps that was the most powerful emotion the mist allowed him to feel at that moment. 

He checked on his thumb, in which the only evidence that he’d been bleeding was a brown gray bloom on the gauze. He replaced the tape. The vise feeling was still there, and it was hard to determine whether it had been present for his and Greyland’s phone call. His head felt woozy, and tight. He steered himself into the bathroom, and promptly vomited into the toilet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you liked it! -eb


	4. 1.44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac fixes the Jimenez's dryer. The boys slave away on Mary's behalf. Greyland and Jade try to get him to move in. Isaac takes his frustrations out on some innocent floppies.

  
"1.44"  
Decade Two  
Twenty Three Years

_And I can see you in my mind  
Your eyes now, they would shine  
Blue, the sky that made itself your name—_

* * *

Greyland and Isaac lay on the bed at the Jimenez house, balls deep in a conversation about Les Miserables.

“Do you think they’ve translated it into Eskimo language?” asked Isaac as Greyland tried to describe the plot to him. Isaac was not interested, and had taken to interrupting Greyland when he spoke emphatically about anything rather than telling him that he didn’t want to hear. “Nevermind. Probably not.”

“Well, it’s not called ‘Eskimo language,’” Greyland replied sourly. About Isaac’s ignorance, or merely his own being cut off, it wasn’t clear. “And why are you so sure the Inuit don’t want to watch Les Mis?”

“I just doubt it’s popular there,” Isaac replied. 

“How do you know?” Greyland countered, and continued on. He was only at the part when Fantine cuts off her hair and yanks out her teeth to send money for her sickly child. “It’s always a good excuse to get someone to do anything. An ill child.” In his extensive synopsis, he was also adding in parts that were exclusive to Victor Hugo’s 900 page novel, that Greyland of course had read in his spare time. Greyland rose above Isaac in this way, reading books of ridiculous length for pleasure.

“Most of them are fantasy novels. They’re usually pretty long,” Greyland rationalized. He was cutting up CDs in their bedroom for their latest project. “It’s not like I’m reading classics in my spare time.”

Isaac read out from Google, “‘Les Miserables has been translated into 21 different languages: English, Japanese, Hebrew, Hungarian...’” He read the rest under his breath. “Not…” He then Googled the Inuit language. “‘Nope. Inuk-ti— _that_ ,” he said, showing Greyland his phone.

“Inuk-tit-ut,” he pronounced brokenly. He threw a CD at Isaac. “Get back to work.”

Isaac put his phone down, put Jade’s spare pair of gardening gloves back on (Greyland had her favorite ones) and took up the scissors again. 

“Taking the whole day, huh?” said Jade from the doorway. Isaac was too focused to look up, instead wedging his scissors towards the center of the CD. 

“Mary’s taking longer than expected. We need more CDs, and smaller pieces, than we originally thought. Don’t start, he’s not stealing me away from you,” said Greyland, his voice tempting irritation. 

“I need to decide what to throw out from the bathroom closet. I can’t do it without you.”

Isaac looked up, and saw himself in the panels of the sliding mirror, himself and Greyland on the painting tarp, CDs in a cylindrical stack and triangular pieces glinting in a box near Greyland’s hip. “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you,” said Isaac to Jade.

“He doesn’t need to do that. He already said he’d fix the dryer, that’s enough,” countered Greyland. 

Today, Jade wore sweatclothes and her thick hair was wrestled into two braids. One wiry eyebrow rose above the thin silver rim of her glasses. “You weren’t kidding about that?”

“I ordered parts from Amazon already. I’ll see what I can do,” said Isaac. He felt the need to tack that on, fearing that either of them might become too confident in his skill. 

“It’ll be marvelous if you do,” said Jade.

* * *

Mary was situated in the forefront of the garage. Beside her, the slope of a paint tray held the CD fragments meant to adhere to her form. Mary was three feet tall, and it would take a lot of fragments for her to become a completely reflective surface. At first, Isaac used to drag a giddy Greyland up to the roof of Anthony’s apartment to work on her. But now, both Mary and Isaac’s band saw took up permanent residence in the Jimenez’s garage. Isaac clambered over and squeezed past a military-grade obstacle course of boxes in order to retrieve a bundle of screwdrivers from a shelf on the far wall.

Monday—as promised—the parts for the dryer came in. Jade offered to recompense him the money for them. Isaac had to accept. Between paying his share of Anthony’s apartment and footing the extra gas bill it took to commute to work from the Jimenez’s, he was not in the position to refuse.

Jade stood in awe at the end of the long hallway, where Isaac sat on the floor behind a barricade of parts lining the corridor. The two-by-two foot cylindrical drum sat fat and rotund between them. Jade watched him with apprehension and awe from the corner of the room as Isaac had bared the industrial jungle of grimy pipes and dusty pastel wires inside. 

“Oh Christ,” Greyland said from above Isaac, whose ass was currently sticking out into the hall while his head remained in the now hollowed-out machine. 

“Don’t you dare.” This was Jade. Apparently, Greyland had a flat hand poised above Isaac to smack him. Isaac felt his neck go hot. Jade said, “Stay where you are, don’t bother Isaac. If you mess him up, I’ll kill you.”

Again he wished to administer his disclaimer. 

“Do you know what’s wrong with it?” Greyland asked. 

“I have a few ideas. I bought a few different spare parts, just in case.” Isaac motioned to the box. “So that’s good. We’ll see if I know what’s wrong with it when I put it back together.”

“I do hope you know how to put this back together,” he said. 

“I definitely can put it back together. The question will be if it’ll decide to work once I’m through with it.” He would not touch the pastel wires because he didn’t know what they did. After his head disappeared under the dryer once again, he retrieved a small wavy washer—pressed between both thumb and forefinger in a swathe of grease. He suspected a grease leak was part of their problem. 

Greyland stood idle in need of a job. Isaac sent him for a paper towel, and with it Greyland cleaned off the washer. Near Isaac’s phone lay a cluster of screws—tiny, unremarkable pieces that he did not want to lose. He gave them to Greyland to hold. 

“See that wheel on the left?” Isaac pointed into the empty shell. Mottled green grease coated the left wheel. “That looks like probably a grease leak.”

“Gross,” said Greyland, “I’m gonna wheeze just looking at how dirty the inside of that thing is.” Auburn dust covered every surface inside the cavernous belly of the dryer. 

“Well, lucky it doesn’t get into anybody’s clothes,” said Isaac dismally. 

“Oh—hold still before you go back in—” Greyland grabbed a fistful of his hair with the paper towel, and presented him a lob of grime clinging to his duckfluff of white hair. 

Jade had gone to fetch the extra box of screw drivers from her husband’s dresser drawer, at Isaac’s request. 

“What is it?” Jade asked.

“A grease leak,” Greyland regurgitated. 

“How do you know?”

“It’s a grease leak,” said Isaac.

“That’s what I said.”

“And the wear strips are worn down, too.” He stood up, ankles aching and toes prickling, and ambled over the barricade towards the remarkable drum. “Look. The edge of the drum’s all scratched away because of it.” A watery ribbon raced around the circumference of the drum, where the dull paint had worn away into mirrory metal.

“It amazes me how you know that,” said Jade lightly. “Where’d you learn all this stuff from?”

“Cars,” said Isaac absently.

“Cars are not dryers,” Greyland pointed out. 

“Similar enough.”

And Greyland and Jade laughed at his comment, an explosive sound that rang loud and unexpected in Isaac’s ears. Jade had excused herself into the bathroom. Isaac put his head under the dryer again. A hard slap in the ass had nearly thrown him into the greasy wheel. He flailed against the metal panels, and a booming echo of rebounding metal filled his head and filled the hall. 

Jade wrenched the bathroom door open. “I have no words for you. Look at him. Look at what you did.” 

Isaac sat with his asscheeks pressed hard into his heels. Greyland looked smug. Although Isaac tried his best to looked more embarrassed and less aroused, Greyland knew better. Isaac tried his best not to meet Jade’s gaze.

* * *

At dinner, Jade asked around the table for opinions about her dish. She was experimenting. 

“They all taste good, Gran,” said Greyland in mild exasperation.

“I don’t want to hear that. Isaac?”

“I think I liked the cheese you used last time better than this one,” Isaac replied. It was the kind of comment she liked, constructive criticism that she found helpful, and he tried to give it to her. 

She grunted. “That cheese is far more expensive, you know.”

Greyland waved her off. “Gran, stop saying that. You’re making him uncomfortable.”

Isaac mumbled, “It’s alright.”

Jade apologized, “Sorry, Isaac. I was only kidding.”

Isaac worried to himself if it was possible that the added load of his wash, in addition to Greyland and Jade’s, was what made the dryer ultimately break. His work uniforms were now stowed in Greyland’s tragically blue dresser drawers. He brought this possibility up near the end of dinner. Greyland waved him off. “That’s ridiculous.”

Jade reflected the question back to Isaac. “Can that happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think so. That doesn’t make sense,” said Greyland. “There are families of four and five that have dryers and theirs don’t break because of it. It’s not our family that’s the problem. It’s just old.”

* * *

Despite a lot of frustration, Isaac did not finish with the dryer that night.

He’d put it back together, and it ran one load of Greyland’s clothes before ultimately pooping out. Greyland did his best to console him. “It’s just old,” he repeated meaninglessly. Cupped in Greyland’s palm were the front panel screws. Isaac had removed the front panel again for a tempestuous second try. He was fixing this damn thing so that he could properly earn his keep. He didn’t understand why it was so hard.

“Put that back on. Isaac, you’re done for the night. I can’t have you running a cycle while we’re all sleeping anyways.” In the hall stood Jade in her bathrobe. 

Isaac obeyed, but had put the front panel screws in wrong. “Shit,” he said. He had long since stopped caring if Jade heard him swear. She never gave a crap. “Those are the wrong holes.”

“Well, how come they put in extra holes if no screws are supposed to go in them?” Greyland asked indignantly. 

“They’re for just in case you want to switch the side that the dryer door opens from,” Isaac explained practically as he wrung the screws into their proper holes. 

“What?!”

A silence ensued among Greyland and Jade, and Isaac stared at them blankly. “What?”

“You can change the side that the dryer door is on?” Greyland asked.

“Yeah.”

“I never knew that.” With shock he stared at Jade, who seemed unaware of this as well. The left sided dryer door had made deep horizontal hashmarks on the wall beside it. “It was like this when we moved in. Can you switch the door to the other side next time you take it apart?”

Jade scolded, “Let him worry about that later, Grey.” 

“Sure, I can.”

“Shower,” Jade ordered formidably. She poked through a painful knot in his hair.

* * *

“I’d have to move all of my stuff into your guys’ house,” Isaac said. He hoped to say it in a way that made the idea sound absurd. “Where are you gonna put my band saw, for example?”

In the bedroom, Greyland folded his one load of laundry out of the basket. He laughed. _Great_. Now Isaac wouldn’t at all be taken seriously. Puzzled, Greyland replied, “Your band saw is fine exactly where it is. Don’t worry about that.”

Greyland had been too dumb to make separate piles. A large tower of his boxer briefs toppled over. Isaac caught them before they fell out of fold. He arranged them within a drawer. He gathered Greyland’s Radio Shack polos, compressing them next to his own uniforms.

One of Greyland’s chest therapy vests hung in his hand, now that Isaac was putting the clothes away. He said, and his voice grew excruciatingly quiet—“You know, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Aqueous were the sheen of the sweat wicking Radio Shack polos. He pressed them next to his own uniforms, saying, “It is, because it’s not like I can move back if I cut ties with Anthony, now that Marco’s living there.”

“Do you _want_ to move back? I thought you first came here _because_ of Marco,” said Greyland. 

“I don’t plan to. But if I need to, I can’t.” Avoiding his gaze was difficult. Isaac stood trapped, knees brushed against the bed as he stooped in front of the dresser. Isaac was the one closer to the wall, and Greyland’s body had him trapped in the crook. 

“Afraid we’ll break up, or something?” Greyland said with a painful grin. 

“That’s not all of it.” Although Isaac had more to explain—he couldn’t proceed to what it was since his cheeks currently burned with what it _wasn’t_. 

Greyland finally let him pass by, to scour and scrape the dark grease lob from his hair.

* * *

When Isaac was a child, he had saved up two hundred and three dollars and eighty four cents in a box kept under his bed. Bit by little bit, he saved every chunk of spare change from his lunch and couch cushions and dollars left over from expenditures at the school book fair. This was his runaway fund, and his dad nor Anthony had ever known about it, because that was the point. It was to fund any necessary escape. His father had been a kind man up until he died, and Isaac realized such preparations were not warranted. But Isaac only thought, _just in case, just in case he _is_ bad._

Whilst showering, he thought of how he’d asked Greyland once if _he_ had ever done anything like that. 

“Never,” Greyland had said. “I’ve hid stuff from Jade. Brought neighborhood boys up to our treehouse to make out with them without telling her. But I never tried to run away from her. That’d be uncivilized, no?”

“Uncivilized,” Isaac had repeated.

* * *

Faint smudges, the ghosts of sickly green stars, smoldered above them as they slept. 

Uncomplaining, Isaac shifted and shimmied under the covers. 

Greyland asked, “Are you uncomfortable?”

Isaac replied, “It’s hot.”

Greyland said, “Take off your pants, then.”

And so he did, letting them fall with a whrrup onto the rug. 

Hulking Isaac lay with as much of himself that would fit into the slender crook of Greyland’s shoulder. White tufts of his hair emerged from their junction. The rest of his body sprawled behind him like a remote peninsula. Under the sheets, they fell into a rhythm of breath, their silhouette under the thinly draped white blanket reminiscent of those sleeping in the ash under Pompeii. 

In the night, as he often did, Greyland awoke by fit of coughing. Sweat laden skin on Isaac’s face peeled painfully away. Unsupported, his head weighed heavy on the rough kinks in his neck. From his vantage point, Greyland barked above him into the night to no one in particular. 

Before Isaac could dizzy himself with sitting up, and ask for what he needed to do, Grey found his forearm in the dark. A painful squeeze pinched it.

With that same arm he reached over Greyland’s tense legs, groping around on his nightstand. “I can’t find the switch.” 

A hand landed on his head and began petting his hair. “Go to sleep,” he said, “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

A restless halt seized Isaac and kept him still. He felt it rude to rise up and reject Greyland’s tender gesture. Isaac folded his hand back into their bodies, like a bird settling its wing back into its round mass. His head settled into Greyland’s lap. 

“Can’t. You’re making a racket, you know.”

Greyland stole back his second pillow and tucked it behind his back. Alight with a field of prickles was Isaac’s scalp, as Greyland’s fingers scraped through the damp strings of his gooless hair. If he rose up, it would ruin things.

A rhythm of dreaming resumed as soon as he was still. Isaac’s thoughts bled into one another until he was no longer able to think at all. Greyland let out a few trailing coughs, each sound a thrust into Isaac’s consciousness. 

A few slippery thoughts nearly escaped him as the liquefying process of sleep began to drown him. The first was that in their Society, Greyland wanted to live there for the rest of his life. Isaac saw it as a temporary place for them to save money before moving on. Thus, Greyland would die on their commune. The second was that if he did, since Isaac’s contribution was to be manual labor, Isaac would be tasked to dig the hole and bury the body. 

Because whatever he said now could easily pass off as a sleep induced stupor, Isaac voiced this.

“Hold that thought for the morning,” said Greyland quietly. Stiff now were the carding fingers through his hair. 

Isaac would not. He would forget it unless he said it. “And I’m not going to like, stick around ruling over everybody without you. That destroys the whole point,” he said. 

Greyland shushed him. “Go back to sleep. Don’t worry about that. The thought experiment was supposed to be fun. I didn’t mean to upset you through planning the commune. As a matter of fact, we don’t have to talk about it anymore.” He sounded apologetic.

And they didn’t, not for a very, very long time.

* * *

CD ROMS carried a purple iridescence when you angled them a certain way, whereas regular CDs did not. The problem was, there just wasn’t enough of them, and this begrudged both Greyland and Isaac.

“I might be able to get some from work,” said Greyland hopefully. They sorted through the small collection Jade had offered up. Her small stack was painfully silver green all the way through. 

“That defeats the entire point of repurposing them, doesn’t it?” said Isaac gruffly. 

CDs had been a transient technology that had lived though their heyday in its brief entirety. With their best days behind them, they were now ubiquitous and useless—and worstly, non recyclable in most states. An emotionally charged rant on Greyland’s part had informed Isaac of this.

“I know it does. But like, I doubt anyone’s gonna buy them off us, and this is for the purpose of art, right? So I feel like that justifies it,” said Greyland. “I mean, we don’t have to.

Greyland cared about the environment when it was convenient for him, Isaac thought. When cutting, he was careful not to fold or flake the aluminum. That too, would defeat the purpose—the shiny, reflective bits, mesmerizing in their uselessness, were that which was sought after. 

In the sun room, after Greyland had turned in early, Jade watched a DVR recording of _Young and the Restless._ Their shoebox of CD pieces balanced on her lap, and the good pair of scissors—the large ones, from the kitchen—sprawled in her hand. Each pie slice of emerald reflectivity clinked when it dropped softly into the box. 

“Thanks for helping us out,” said Isaac.

“Greyland didn’t want to hold you up,” she replied. “He didn’t want to delay your progress.”

“Well, Mary’s not just mine. She’s _our_ project,” Isaac said.

Wiggling the tiny triangle back and forth, Jade pulled it loose like a baby tooth. Orchestral mourning poured on from the daytime television episode. “I thought so. Make sure you let _him_ know that.” 

Isaac fetched his scissors—the baby ones, from an old school pencil case—and slipped a disc from the box to take to the opposite chair.

Jade said, “I wish I could tell you that it’s alright to pay us nothing—if I could afford to take no money from you, I most certainly would. I think the price of rent you pay your brother now is fine with me.”

“The whole rent, or just the part I put in?” Isaac asked stupidly. 

“Just the part you put in.” Her triangles were raw and bulbous at each vertex. He’d need to shave them to render each edge straight and smart. 

“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet,” said Isaac.

“Well, you’ll let me know if we need to go to Lowe’s for an extra set of drawers,” she replied.

“That’s exactly what I was _trying_ to point out to him,” said Isaac irkedly. “He wants me to move in, but we haven’t worked out any logistics at all.”

“The drawers are an obstacle we can easily resolve,” said Jade stiffly. She looked at Isaac rather severely now. “But until you decide whether you want to live here, we can’t do any of that.” 

Isaac said nothing, and Jade said again, “Greyland’s not by himself. I’d like you to live here too.”

* * *

Once again, the rotund drum of the dryer lay busty on the floor. Greyland was wearing a particle mask in the house, the kind they used while out in the garage with Mary. Propped against the wall was the outer panel, the sleek white porcelain of an exoskeleton. The scuffed metal of its industrial inner side was now on full display, in what would hopefully be its final appearance to the world. 

Greyland rolled the final screws in his palm, and Isaac shoved the panel into place with an echoey _choom_. Transfigured all at once—the dryer was a dryer again, instead of a cavernous hole. Best of all—it now worked, and the door opened beautifully to the right.

* * *

Armed with his floppy drive, Isaac spent the night painstakingly combing through all the floppies he had rescued from his father’s house. Just now getting around to it, he expected that unearthing their secrets would be somewhat of a religious experience for him. He did not expect his eyes to liquidate and seep out of his skull.

That was exactly as it happened. He sat his ass at Greyland’s desk, and Greyland helped Jade clean out the bathroom closet. Each floppy got sent to one of two piles—corrupted, or functioning. The corrupted ones wouldn’t open. The functioning ones held no epiphanies. 

The drive churned and spat with the BOYS diskette inside. A file folder sat there, which contained 0 bytes and remained unopenable. However, the folder was created in 1991. Isaac had not been born until 1999, Anthony 1995. “BOYS” must have referred to their elder cousins. 

Unrecognized file icons with file extensions that seemed to run the gamut of every three letter alphabetical combination under the sun—.PCX, .MP, .DO, .SCR, .ICO. Anticlimactically, the .exe’s could not, or would not install—they mocked Isaac for even trying to run them. His father’s memos from 1992 put him to sleep. “Goodyear 2001” heralded lists of needed office supplies, Excel sheets of names from a Christmas Party, and a photograph of no one he recognized that’d been shredded into pinpricks of pixels. He held onto it dearly. 

When Greyland sauntered back to his desk, he kissed Isaac when he complained of this anticlimactic experience. “I’ll see if I can wheedle Louise into giving you a refund.” When Isaac told him it wouldn’t be necessary, Greyland said that he was bored of cleaning out the back closet. “Don’t look. You’ll cry. We’ve already thrown out about a dozen hair products that she doesn’t use anymore.”

Isaac smiled, and showed Greyland an application that was supposed to run a game of billiards. His computer cooed with a string of sequential error messages. 

“Sucks,” he replied, and planted another kiss on him. “I can get some of Jade’s if you still want to go through those.” Isaac accepted this second offer.

In an effort to solidify his eyes once more, Isaac began to wipe the corrupted data off the errored diskettes and began to rewrite over them. They only ran once their history had been erased. Isaac emailed himself a photo he’d taken of Greyland and Jade in the sunroom, doing one of Jade’s puzzles. The light from the window behind them gleamed on both the puzzle and the glass coffee table, the shadow anonymizing their faces. He had just enough space on the 1.44 megabyte diskette for one more picture and chose one of he and Greyland in front of a movie theater. It had been their fourth date. 

Greyland had picked him up and driven him. That day he showed up at his apartment door in these really disgusting sunglasses. They had purple lenses and gold rims, and were round as Harry Potter’s, and were likely from some nineteen sixties hippie themed rager he’d attended. He said they matched his pants. Greyland got stared at wherever he went, and he’d long stopped looking. Isaac had to become used to catching eyes with people.

Before leaving the parking lot of Isaac’s apartment, Greyland switched them out for a different pair inside the center console—a more reasonable-looking set of Ray Bans. Isaac asked him how come.

Rather normally, Greyland answered, “These’ve got UV protection. For when I drive.”

Greyland had attended to Isaac’s snorting for only a moment before deciding he didn’t want to know what it was about. 

They were almost to the movie theater, about a thirty minute drive. Stopped at a light with the theater up ahead, grocery bags served as tumbleweed, and flattened trash edged the curb. A homeless man wobbled in between lanes, his dark hand cupping a Maxwell House can, but he was way up ahead at the next light. Another man clipped across the crosswalk in front of them. Greyland locked all the doors with a surround sound click. Isaac had protested nothing.

It was too large to fit. He ran it through an internet file compressing machine to make the file size smaller. With a mere 200 kilobytes left, he was able to squeeze in Greyland’s favorite poem from his high school English class.

  
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done  
by only me is your doing,my darling)  
i fear  
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want  
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)  
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant  
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows  
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)  


After ejecting the disk he labeled it GJR.

It was the beginning of a sport for him. Battling with the floppy disk, Isaac strived to cram more and more onto it. Easily he Googled how to cruelly squash down a file. Apparently a certain Terence Eden had done it before him, and chronicled it on his technology blog. 

A single four minute song could fit in 1.44 MB if he compressed it only gently. If he were less kind, if he squeezed even more bytes out of it—he could fit three songs. He took MP3s and yanked down their bitrate to the slowest it would go. He ran them through compression machines repeatedly. When he listened to them, the voices of the greats seemingly came to him from an underwater venue.

The internet had warned Isaac that his squashing would lose him a ridiculous amount of data. Through further reading, he had discovered that those files were never whole to begin with. They’d been shredded partly already—it was the only way such massive amounts of music were able to fit into phones and MP3 players. Whatever had been lost was not noticeable. The songs he whittled away at sounded more like a seashore with their echo and wind, sounding about as far away as the bygone era junk they were shoved into.

He didn’t care. He shredded them anyway. And then he moved onto videos. 

He crunched them to fit the 1.44 MB—only one could fit, at quite the price. In the worst cases, his music videos emerged from the compression machine as mere shadows. In the best cases, grains of video staggered and adjusted themselves constantly. Even still, they still vaguely resembled what they were meant to be.

When Greyland came back to the room, Isaac was cheerful once again. “Okay, what’s so funny?” 

Isaac played a performance he’d screen recorded of “Come On, Eileen” that had been stripped to blocks of jittery shadow and tinkling echo. “Do you recognize this? Tell me who’s singing.”

“Dexys Midnight Runners,” Greyland correctly identified right off the bat. “Why does it look like that?”

Enthusiastically, Isaac explained it to him. He popped back and forth between the tabs he had open for the compressing machines, as well as the software he used to slow the bitrate. Walking Greyland through every step, Greyland chewed on his thumb, and listened to what was left. 

“Is this your floppy project?” Greyland asked, a laugh behind his front teeth and silly braces. 

“No. It wasn’t originally. And I’m going to go through Jade’s disks,” he said. “It’s just fun.”

Snaking his arms around Isaac, Greyland said, “Sounds like fun. More fun than flushing expired opiates down the toilet.”

“Why are you flushing opiates down the toilet?!” said Isaac. 

“Because nobody in this house needs them. They’re on their way out. You can watch us flush them if you want. I’ve just convinced Gran to do them all at once.”

Isaac looked back at the computer, half twisted round in his chair.

“Or you could say here, and keep doing your thing.”

His _thing._ “I’ll stay here. You can flush without me.” Isaac picked up the diskette with Greyland’s two pictures on it. “It’s got the one of you and Jade in the sunroom. And of us from Black Panther,” Isaac said, handing it to him. 

Greyland took a look at it without making any kind of face. He smiled at Isaac, rather than the drive. “I love this. I’ll tape it for you,” he said, heading to the bathroom.

“Gross.” Isaac went back to his videos.

Another hour passed. Jade came in to check on him. “We flushed the pills without you, y’know.”

“I told him it was okay.”

“Going through my stuff now, aren’t you,” Jade said. She poked through her old floppies, and pocketed ones she didn’t want Isaac “snooping at.”

“I can’t promise all of them won’t be corrupted.”

“What?” said Jade.

“They might not all run,” explained Isaac. 

“You’ll get them to. You’re really good at this stuff,” said Jade. “Dinner’s on soon. Greyland’s making hot dogs.”

He didn’t try to explain to her that it would not be a measure of his skill if the files weren’t corrupted, but thanked her and told her he’d let her know what he found. 

Jade’s floppies dated back to 2002. Work memos and calendars dominated, but among them were email attachments of photos of Greyland with his parents in England. On his phone, Greyland had every photo that ever existed of him and his parents. Compressed so as to lose inconsequent data, Isaac now knew. But this was a new find. A lost artifact.

In another photo, Jade and Greyland had gone to the Museum of Natural History. The date indicated that it was shot shortly after Jade had taken custody of him. That same floppy contained a small Word document with one of Jade’s to-do lists on it. _Buy a new year planner. Call Jane. Greyland kaleidoscope._

* * *

Arriving at the dinner table, Isaac set a printout of the lost photo of Mr. and Mrs. Jimenez next to Jade’s place setting. 

“See, I knew you would get it to work. Oh, thank you…” She trailed off when staring at the picture. “Come, see,” she beckoned Greyland softly, who gingerly stood at the stove. 

Greyland looked at the picture only after sitting down. He glanced at his toddler self, scissor legged and squirming against the torso of his father. He tucked the printout under Jade’s plate. 

“You don’t have this one, I’m pretty sure,” Isaac said. He _was_ sure, but didn’t want to seem so. 

“Email it to me, okay?” He was taking out his phone. “Look.” In the video, Greyland and Jade made a feeble cheer as a swarm of pale colored pills raced each other down the sucking bowl.

“At the table? Really, Greyland?” tutted Jade. “Disgusting. Why’d you even want that on your phone?”

“So Isaac could see it.”

“Ugh,” she clucked.

“Send that over too,” said Isaac so Jade wouldn’t hear.


	5. Olly Olly Oxen Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac receives a warm welcome from Jade, a tense one from Greyland. Greyland asks for a promise.

  
"OLLY OLLY OXEN FREE"  
Decade Three  
Thirty Years

_Well, the news found me today  
A million steps away  
These things take time to travel, it would seem  
I can't even fall apart  
Really, now, where would I start?_

* * *

Isaac made sure to buy gum in the airport convenience store before boarding. He brought Benadryl with him as well with all intent to take it as soon as he was in his seat to put him out until they were well in the air. At the last moment, he decided not to—if a catastrophe happened on the plane, he decided he couldn’t afford to be unconscious. 

Silently miserable, so he was. 

After landing, Isaac spent a considerable amount of time vomiting in the men’s room of the airport. He finished up just in time to come out of hiding, allowing Jade and Greyland to claim him. He triple-checked that he had no vomit clinging to his clothes before exiting. 

He proceeded to baggage claim.

One suitcase and one duffel bag accompanied Isaac from Alaska. He stacked one atop the other and pushed it like a shopping cart, balancing. Neither Jade nor Greyland helped to carry his bags. When Jade used to bring in groceries, she allowed nobody to help her. “You have a job,” she’d say to Greyland. “You have two jobs—” to Isaac. “This is the only thing that keeps me moving.” And proceeded to leave the two of them standing in the open garage, her chin tucked away from the cold, pulling bright white canvas sacks out of the trunk of her car. She made no offer to be Isaac’s pack mule today, though.

Greyland wore oxygen, housed in a green tank on a narrow-wheeled cart the size of a vacuum cleaner. Therefore, his hands were busy. It was the first thing Isaac noticed about him, and it made him furious for some reason. Wordlessly, Isaac lagged behind. With the duffel balanced on top, he propelled his belongings—all of them—like a shopping cart in front of him. Rather frequently, Greyland checked behind him to see if they’d lost Isaac.

“I’m not going anywhere. Relax,” said Isaac. The suitcase tottered as with difficulty, Isaac _steered_ his suitcase. But he was never far behind. 

Isaac had given thought to what he wore, knowing Greyland would see. At first, he considered a shirt and tie and what effect that might have on him. Or perhaps incorporating some element of sentimentality—for example, a dress shirt he wore on one of their first dates. He realized though, that it was somewhat manipulative. And so instead, he wore his best homeless person clothes—gray sweatpants, a T shirt he slept in. Perhaps onlookers would believe the Jimenezes claimed him as part of some good deed and would feel sorry for them. Perhaps they’d peg him as an unwanted in-law. One they were reclaiming after a valiant, but ultimately unsuccessful attempt at independence. An old woman, her ill grandson, and their adopted adult child. He rather liked that idea, actually.

* * *

“I’ll be stopping at CVS, to get those almond nuts you like.” This was Greyland.

“I don’t like the almonds,” said Jade. “But Isaac does. Maybe he can _do his thing_ and eat them for you.”

“Well—eat them _for you._ I’ll die, and sooner than I already plan to.” Greyland was not only plagued by horrible lungs, but a nut allergy as well.

“Don’t eat them, then, if you don’t want to die,” said Jade with some degree of irritation. 

Greyland drove. Jade filled the passenger seat. Isaac and his bags sprawled across the back seats. A statue of a baby lay swaddled by clothes in the suitcase.

Around Valentine’s Day, Greyland bought a tin can of chocolate covered mixed nuts for Jade, her annual present. Isaac’s favorite nut was the almond, and Jade, although a fan of them all, preferred pistachio. That first year he lived with them, he hadn’t known they were hers only. Greyland caught him in the act. For weeks, Jade simply assumed she was lucky. She admitted to believing Greyland had shaken every shelved can to gauge which of them was heaviest, and therefore contained the most pistachios, and bought that one. But in reality, it had been Isaac _doing his thing_. That is, tapping the tin can on the tablecloth, to bring the heavier almonds to the top, picking them off. Sinking the undesirable pistachios to the bottom, leaving them for Jade.

The crook of the baby made a good pillow, for the hollow of its fetal curl made room for a head. Alaska and his habits had not been conducive for sleeping—but the baby and the cadence of a conversation he was not a part of most certainly was. Resting his head on the rough, tear inducing material of the suitcase, his eyelids magnetized. He felt Baby’s roundness. 

A peach bobbled in the cupholder of the center console. Trimmed light from the windshield blipped by its fine down, then slipped across Jade’s lap. Today she wore the only navy-blue tights she owned.

Although it felt like a small night in itself, Isaac awoke with a start. A spot on his head throbbed from Baby’s bony knee. 

“Great, Grey. You woke him up.”

“Sorry.” 

Greyland had hit a pothole, almost seemingly on purpose. As he rose upright, Isaac wondered about throwing up in the car. It was unlikely—but an episode of vomiting simply _came on._ He had no way of knowing when it was coming, ever. Which poisoned the vomit-free days, even though they outnumbered the others by far.

By the time they reached the Jimenez's neighborhood, familiarity seeped back in and saturated his view of everything. Similar to the way that after a few nights of misplacing it, his old retainer tightly bunched together his teeth, then by the morning settled calmly again. He greatly disliked that.

A periodic chirping from the smoke detector’s dying battery was one of the first things apparent upon Isaac’s arrival. Upon locating it, he promised to replace it as soon as he could get his hands on a replacement. 

“I swear we haven’t left it for you to do,” Greyland said stiffly. 

“I don’t mind,” replied Isaac insipidly. “I’ll leave early tomorrow to get another battery, before my job re-interview with Darryl. Can you drive me? I don’t want to make Jade do it.”

He partly expected Greyland to insist that Jade loved any excuse to get out of the house. But he didn’t, and Isaac had an inkling that she _did_ leave the smoke detector for him to fix. Greyland agreed to drive him.

The two had not spoken since Greyland’s phone call. They’d exchanged a few texts about logistics, but aside from that they hadn’t _really_ spoken. 

Isaac needed a place to put his belongings. The duffel bag zipper was bound tight and wavy around all of Isaac’s clothes. Along with Baby, the dismantled remnants of his standing dresser from Alaska lay in his suitcase. Until he and Greyland engaged in a tense conversation about where his reassembled dresser would go, he hadn’t realized how much he missed that place of his own. A bitterness settled into him.

Isaac sat on his knees. The parts lay in front of him. Greyland mussed with his hair in the sliding mirror. It was much shorter now. Greyland watched him stare at the pieces and mocked him. “You’re such a weirdo.” He became quite the asshole when he was nervous.

Each wooden polygon bore a dot price sticker in its corners—the kind used to label items at a garage sale. The elderly neighbors on Isaac’s old nameless street held one. Somebody’s son had gone off to college. Upon sunset, the old man and his wife began to move all the unclaimed items back into the open cave of their garage. Isaac helped them. In the winters he shoveled snow for them and in the summers, he cut grass. The husband gladly tipped him well. They planned to take the leftover items to the dump. Although Isaac felt somewhat complicit in this, he asked for their leftover stickers, and they gave them over.

“Beats buying a new one,” Isaac mumbled. “Or at least, it would—if I could only reassemble it.”

Back here, all of Isaac’s friends were Greyland’s friends. He would miss having a few people that Greyland had never met.

Stickers with identical numbers marked corners that articulated, once assembled. The corners that went together were numbered alike. He toyed with them, flipping the parts as if they were puzzle pieces. He hadn’t seen one of Jade’s puzzles in the sunroom. Later on, maybe he’d start one for her. To _keep_ her young, against her will. 

Despite his stickering system, his lovely dresser drawer from Alaska lay hopelessly dismantled on Greyland’s _Good Night Moon_ rug and would not go together again. Ultimately, the more he struggled the less he knew what the dresser looked like. Greyland stood above him, smirking.

Isaac saw themselves in the sliding mirror. Isaac himself had grown larger and more muscular, despite his proclivity in the summertime to skip out on meals. Greyland, on the other hand, had grown smaller and frailer. When Greyland finished playing with his hair, he stood on his knees behind Isaac and breathed down his neck.

“Maybe it’ll do you good to take a break,” said Greyland gently. 

“Where am I supposed to put my clothes?” grumbled Isaac. 

Greyland squeezed past him towards his own horizontal dresser. The oxygen tank smacked the mirror with a loud, tolling sound that clung to the air long after Greyland swore. Theatrically, he began opening all the drawers on the left-hand side. When Isaac stood on his knees, he could see that they hung out, empty and gutted. Clothes spilled out of the remaining drawers on the right-hand side, biting on edges of periwinkle or satiny red like triangular, little tongues. 

“Just in case,” Greyland said. He shoved them all closed with a sound that rivaled the tolling. “Relax.”

On the _Good Night Moon_ rug remaining from childhood, they used to cut up CDs for Mary. Without a word to Greyland, he clacked the pieces into a pile and set them aside for later. After crushing his clothes into the left-hand drawers, he put the duffle in the suitcase and the suitcase in the closet. Next to Mary.

The wings would be arriving soon.

* * *

Isaac asked Jade if they could start another puzzle.

With surprise, she said, “I never thought you liked them that much, Isaac.”

“I lived out in a social wasteland for five years,” he joked. “There weren’t many other things to take up in terms of hobbies.” He hoped that by believing in its identity as a joke, Greyland and Jade would feel less uncomfortable with his five-year absence, and the fact that it had actually happened. Greyland’s face pursed like a lemon. Jade’s seemed utterly unchanged. 

Jade liked moving around furniture—about once every six months, when she got particularly stressed. In five years, the puzzles had not been moved. He knew exactly where to find the one he searched for.

At the sunroom glass coffee table, Isaac sorted the border pieces from the jagged middle ones. After a while, Greyland reluctantly joined them just as Jade brought up Alaska.

“See any mooses?

“It’s true, they really are everywhere,” replied Isaac. An elation of nitrogenous air filled him. Perhaps his intervention really would cause them to rethink the tone of his trip. 

A laugh from Jade. Nothing from Greyland. Already two of border corners were filled. Jade was working on filling the jagged creek that would connect the two masses. Isaac was working to bulk up an isthmus out of the hairy, painted bridge of the photo, its only unnatural feature.

Jade delegated to Greyland a rosebush in the foreground. Greyland’s rounded fingers fumbled with its final piece—one that looked like a fit but ultimately was not. His trembling, frustrated hands flatly palmed the rosebush and in a slow, restrained way, slid it off the table, where the cluster of pieces folded over on itself but did not break. He clambered to his feet and left the table without another word. 

Jade rose from the couch and stalked after him, scolding him like he was a tantrum-throwing child. 

The puzzle could still be mended. The rosebush held itself mainly intact on the tile floor. It would be rather satisfying, Isaac thought, to merge them again. But it would also render Greyland’s feelings unheard, his gesture undone. So, Isaac picked up the pieces from the floor and crumbled them, and when they clasped together still, he poked holes into them to break them up. Above the soft clicking of pieces against pieces, he could hear the two distantly arguing. In case Jade wanted to try again another day, he dismantled their work entirely. Shaking the box elicited a muffled shuffling of pieces, and he stowed it away. 

“Don’t even think about calling your brother,” Jade said formidably upon her return to the sunroom. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Anthony’s married,” Isaac said. He lived in a house with his wife now. There was no going back.

“Good.” She wringed something in her palm. It was a winter sweater Greyland owned. Jade thumbed at the elbow, thinned and worn away. She had conceded to fixing it for him, after insisting he do it himself. “He’ll come around. I know he will. He’s just—very stressed at the moment.” She dropped her voice very low, as if Greyland were a child—or a rogue cousin. “The manager at Radio Shack, the one who had been there since the day he started, recently left. He really misses Louise. I’m not saying you coming home hasn’t upset him—but he was upset before, you should know.”

The part that stuck with Isaac was the fact that Greyland had gone to college for his B.A., and still worked at Radio Shack. Instead of inquiring directly, he asked, “He works there full time still?” 

“Part time. His health doesn’t really afford him to do full time anymore,” Jade corrected, refolding the sweater and putting it on the counter, near a nest sticky notes—her never ending to do list. “He keeps saying the environment isn’t the same now.”

When Isaac nodded sympathetically, she tsked and clucked her tongue. “You too…” In invading his personal space, she pinched the armpit of his homeless man T-shirt from the airport. “Your seam’s coming apart right here...”

“Agk—right, I’m aware.” He lifted his arm with a jerk. His pit was eye level with Jade, and she wiggled her finger in the hole, the spot on his skin singed with icy cold. He knew about it for months but hadn’t gotten up off his ass and fixed it. Perhaps he too, had left it for Jade to do.

“Is something going on with you?” Jade asked as she set fly a few of the cabinet doors, looking for a sewing kit that she’d moved since her last stressful furniture-moving frenzy. 

He felt itchy sweat under his armpits. “No. I’m just tired. It’s not you,” Isaac tacked on as reassurance.

“Well, I didn’t think it was me.” Jade still searched, tsking and clucking the whole way. The familiar sound clicked right back into familiarity, like the roads did. “You just out of sorts. Pale, maybe. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it had anything to do with Greyland’s—outburst.”

“I’m on edge, maybe.” He followed her to the bathroom closet. _Tsk, cluck, search._

She was nodding—big, drastic, and knowing. She clobbered around the towers of towels in the dark stacks of shelves. “I _did_ notice that you were even more nervous than you usually are. What’s ailing you right now?”

A shock and disappointment and relief watered over Isaac, since his discomfort hadn’t been as well masked as he thought. Isaac knew Jade wanted to believe Greyland was the problem, so he said nothing. 

Kit finally in hand, Jade said, “Oh. Because you and Greyland used to be in Greyland’s bed. Right. Well, there’s always the pullout couch. Although let’s hope Greyland can get over himself enough to act like an adult. I mean seriously.”

Jade siding with him ought to have made Isaac feel good, but instead made him feel wary of when she would inevitably change her mind.

A gentle hand graced his back. “I know you needed to do whatever it was you had to out there. Greyland understands too, he just worried miserably about you. It’s another reason that he’s likely so mad. But we didn’t want to pester you.”

It was a rare moment of sensitivity for her. Isaac scarcely knew how to respond. “‘Preciate it, Jade.” 

She shrugged, her lofty, tacit self again. “If we did, it might’ve killed the chances of you coming back.”

The afternoon he agreed to buy the Alaska house, he sent off his email and worried about whether it was the right decision later. That decision led to a five-year stint in another state. Could consequences remain permanent, after such a quick decision? If he didn’t seek to modify them specifically?

* * *

Isaac visited Greyland in his room, where he sulked. 

Isaac said, “I don’t mind taking the couch, if you have a problem with me sleeping in your bed. Jade already understands that this is weird. You’re the only one who’s left to weigh in.”

Irritatedly, Greyland said, “I never said I _had_ any problem with it. You’re putting it on me like _I’m_ supposed to be the one who’s making this decision for you. You don’t have to ask to sleep here, I’ve already told you that. But I still don’t even know if you’re comfortable sharing a bed with me.” 

“I already told you that I don’t care.”

“Well, maybe you should care a little. Try to give the smallest, most utterly constipated shit.”

He knew it was measly armor just after he said it. “Jade told me that you ‘worried miserably’ about me. I get it, but I did what I needed to do. You need to understand that.”

“I worried miserable about you? Is that what she said?” Greyland laughed, and he had a way of making it sting. “I mean, yeah, I was _concerned_ about you. Anyone would be, what you did was kind of erratic. But really, I just find it hard to forgive you.”

“For what?”

“You broke up with me, by moving to _another state,_ when I was at nearly the lowest point in my—will that—goddammit!!” Greyland threw his middle finger up towards the ceiling, in the general direction of the chirp from the dying smoke detector’s battery. 

“You’re being dramatic, don’t you think?” said Isaac. The truth was on his side; Greyland was dramatic a lot.

“I don’t think it is,” he said, “I was dealing with some really hard stuff mentally and physically, and you ran away from me right when things got bad. I could have really used some support from you. Maybe it’s true I’m being immature about you coming back, but it’s hard to forget that you did that, you know? That hurt me, Isaac.”

“You never invited me back.” 

“You don’t need an invitation. I hate how you’re always thinking that,” said Greyland. 

“Well, I would have liked to go to your graduation,” Isaac admitted bitterly. “I don’t want to make you feel like an asshole, but I would have definitely come, y’know.”

Greyland’s face tensely puzzled. “In...for high school?”

“For college.”

“I never graduated,” Greyland said sadly. 

Isaac didn’t want to seem surprised, and he couldn’t risk Greyland thinking he felt smug. So, he didn’t say anything at all, and Greyland continued. “I finished the first semester. I didn’t register for the Spring. It was really hard being away from—for me at least. And I didn’t like the environment, either. Everybody acting like every little thing was the end of the world,” Greyland muttered.

“I think it’s fine,” Isaac said. “College is a bullshit establishment anyways.”

At this, Greyland smiled. “Grandma went through your drawers. She’ll be livid if she finds out any more of your shirts have holes.”

Isaac looked down at his homeless attire. “It’s a sleep shirt. What does it even matter?”

“She’ll argue that you’ll freeze, or some stupid shit like that. She’s become very—clingy, recently,” said Greyland. “Like, she’s going to want to take care of you.”

“I noticed that.” Isaac assumed that Greyland would begin to talk about why, and link it to him obviously getting sicker, which was the presumable reason for Jade’s change in behavior. 

But Greyland didn’t go there. He only pointed out the pajamas in Isaac’s hand—a pair Jade had bought him against his will. “Is this goodnight?”

Isaac meant to give him an overdose of puzzlement, through his glance. “I guess. You know I’m sleeping on the couch.” His voice harder now, “Are you wanting me to beg to sleep here, or something?”

“Not beg,” Greyland said. His voice held a laugh. The laugh infuriated Isaac. “Just ask.”

“I thought you said I never had to.” 

Greyland shrugged in acquiescence. “I know. That’s true. But maybe just this once.”

Isaac did not give him an answer. He figured going into the bathroom to change would help make up his mind. Greyland was talking to Jade in the kitchen when he got out. When he passed through to the living room, Jade bade him _good night_ with a suppressed look. 

Eventually, Isaac managed to reconstruct his dresser drawer. There wasn’t a real place for it in Greyland’s room, so it stood awkwardly in the corner by the mirror but not up against the wall. Isaac readily threw his clothes into it.

That day he asked Jade if he could take some of her chocolate-covered nuts, and she gladly allowed it. Greyland hadn’t bought any for him. Why would he? Isaac had asked him on numerous occasions to never buy him a gift, lest he not know what to do with it. 

Loudly and obnoxiously, Isaac clapped the tin against the table. The pistachios sank to the bottom. The oblong almonds rose to the top.

“See, he’s doing his _thing_ ,” said Greyland. Not hostile, but devoid of affection. 

Jade smirked and shook her head. “I hate almonds.”

* * *

Stooped over the folding ladder, Isaac tinkered with the smoke detector above his head. Greyland’s bedroom door swung open. 

Isaac chanced a look down—Grey held his homeless man airport shirt. The one with the armpit hole.

“I found it on my bed. I think Gran went through your drawers,” Greyland said tacitly. 

“Yeah. You were right—I’ve been given an assignment.” From his vantage point on the ladder, he could see the squished profiles of Greyland’s stars on the ceiling. “She thinks her sewing 101 class was lost on me. It wasn’t. I did a lot of mending out there, actually.”

“You bought a few new clothes too,” Greyland referred to a coat hanging on the doorknob of the bathroom. A long, white puffy coat with a fur lined hood that made Isaac look larger. 

“A few,” he replied. 

“Did you know that in college, there is no such thing as a ‘101’ class?” said Greyland. “All mine had four numbers, not three. And some of the basic level ones didn’t even begin with ‘1’.” 

“Really?” said Isaac. 

Greyland nodded dramatically. “I would know. I _only_ got around to taking the basic level classes.” His self-deprecating comment invited Isaac to laugh at him, which he did. 

Isaac hugged the apex of the step ladder. His own neck hurt from craning up at the ceiling. He stared down at Greyland, who looked very small from his vantage point. “I’m sorry for blaming you for something I did. For making you out to be the immature one about the room. I’m ready to be mature about it, too.”

Greyland folded up his shirt again and put it back on the bed. He wrenched his bedroom door back and forth—eliciting a squeaking sound from its hinges that rivaled the annoying noise of the smoke detector Isaac just finished replacing. “Listen, Isaac. I was being petty. This doesn’t need to be the apology you give me.”

“I’d like to sleep in your room,” he said, gingerly stepping down from the ladder. “Would you be okay with that?”

Greyland uttered, “I mean, yeah, I already said I would, but I just don’t want you to feel like this is something you need to do so that we can get along.”

Isaac took pause and felt an awkward air pass between them—Greyland stared at him doubtfully. Then, Isaac pulled him in and kissed him. The old smoke detector clapped against Greyland’s shoulder when he did. 

“I don’t know what that means,” said Greyland when they pulled apart.

Isaac folded up the ladder. Gesturing for Greyland to move out of the whack zone, he hoisted its rotund width onto his hip. As he advanced down the hallway he said, “Me neither.”

Mary’s wings and Isaac’s band saw both arrived within the week. They both took up residence in the garage, where Greyland and Isaac could continue working on her. Greyland brought out the CD fragments from the closet. For five years, they had remained on the floor at Mary’s base. 

The gluing took astronomically less time than the cutting had. Almost a third of one wing glittered silver within the hour—the glints of green and violet gleaming through the open garage.

* * *

“How often do you go to work?” asked Isaac. 

“I’m not full time. You probably gathered that much already. I work maybe two, three days a week.” 

They walked up the Jimenez’ street. Their route brought them out of the neighborhood, up the main road, past one crosswalk, and down into another quiet side street lined with large, antiquated houses. 

“Jade told me that Louise left,” Isaac said. 

“Yeah. She got a full-time position at a marketing company.”

Isaac scoffed, half as a joke; but he hoped that it came somewhat as a comfort to Greyland. “Where’s that _Radio Shack Respect?_ The lack of company loyalty here is _astounding_.”

No snickering came from Greyland when he glanced over. The wheels on his oxygen tank squeaked and buckled as he hit a pebble on the asphalt. “Can’t blame her—that’s what her degree was in anyway.”

They had reached a large pond in front of the _largest_ and _most antiquated_ of the houses. The only sounds were the hissing, spitting geyser in the center of the pond and Greyland’s constant sniffling. 

“I can’t believe you never showed me this before,” Isaac said. 

Greyland shrugged. “Not quite as vast as how you described Rachel.”

Isaac felt his heart bob and sink a little. “It is true; Rachel was vast,” he declared. “Does this puddle have a name?”

He said flatly, “We usually just refer to it as ‘Tina’s Pond.’”

Isaac joked, “The pond isn’t considered a separate entity from Tina?”

Greyland finally looked at him with a geeky-looking smile. His straightened, braces-less teeth no longer poked over his lips. “No. Why would we?” Isaac explained to him Rachel and the mother lake. “Oh, alright. That’s pretty funny. We can call her Rachel, Jr.”

“Rachel, Jr. sounds appropriate for now,” said Isaac. 

Isaac punched his hands into his pockets, for the weather was cold and he’d left his gloves at the house. Rachel, Jr.’s geyser sent specter-like hoops of vapor gliding across her placid surface. The yellow sun was brooding low in the sky. Greyland wanted to show him the pond just before it got dark. 

“Do you plan to go back?” asked Greyland. 

“I liked my place,” Isaac said. Guilt hauled him over, since he’d never invited Greyland there to see it. “But my elderly neighbors? They said they’d rather me to move into their house after they die, as opposed to somebody else. All you have to do is die less soon than they do.”

“Tall order,” Greyland replied darkly.

Isaac said, “Sometimes I feel shitty that I went.”

“You did what you needed to do.”

“Right,” he said, “and now that I have, I probably don’t need to move back. Only, it depends on the circumstances. It’s an option.” 

Isaac’s eyes were dry from staring at the geyser and the leaves that fell into the glassy water as they tumbled off of the wind. He did not notice Greyland whipping him with one of his gloves. Mumbling _thank you_ Isaac accepted it and put it on. They took each other’s bare hands. 

“Jade would really love to have you stay with her. And to be honest, I don’t really want her to be alone. So that’s another option,” Greyland said. 

“Is it really?” Isaac asked. Greyland looked at him like he was stupid. “I don’t know if I can promise that.”

“I know you can’t. But I want you to.”

Isaac said nothing in response. “What does she think about Alaska?” Perhaps Jade could outlive his elderly neighbors instead. 

“Hates the cold. And the white people.”

“Oh.” Their watches read three fifty-nine p.m. They headed back, away from Rachel, Jr., past the large and antiquated houses, the crosswalk and up the main road, the hour golden with the oldest light.


	6. The Suffering Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jimenezes embark on a lovely summer vacation to a cabin in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any readers who've been following along since the beginning:
> 
> ~CURRENT CAST:~  
> Isaac: Dork #1.  
> Greyland Jimenez-Ruiz: Dork #2.  
> Jade: Croc-wearing chaotic.  
> Anthony: Isaac's brother.  
> Stella: Isaac's mom.  
> Louise: Greyland's boss.  
> Ryan: Boy Scout #1, the loud kid who now suffers from GAD.  
> Wyatt: Boy Scout #2, leader of the lord of the flies pack or something.  
> Sammy and Eric: Other boys in the campfire group. Were on food prep duty one time.  
> Martin McKenna: Saw no vomit in the back of the bus.  
> Collymore: Laissez faire camp counselor.  
> Plumface and Ratnose: Isaac and Greyland's cabin mates. 
> 
> thx! u rok!

  
"THE SUFFERING CLUB"  
Decade Two  
Twenty Five Years

_In this summer I checked in  
Seemed like you were wearin' thin,  
Said that you had seen a quiet sort of year—_

_Sounded older than before—  
Like you'd lost another war,  
As we spoke I heard you slowly disappear!_

* * *

That summer, the Jimenezes planned to travel to a cabin owned by relatives of theirs. Greyland’s cousin John and their parents vacationed in Paris that year, and offered Greyland and Jade the opportunity to stay in the cabin instead, for two weeks. 

On the plane, Jade offered him a piece of pineapple flavored gum before takeoff. She chastised Greyland for not being able to accept any, on account of his braces. He wrinkled his nose. Isaac popped pineapple in his face, rubbing it in.

“You’ve never been on a plane before?” he asked.

“No,” Isaac said. 

Greyland pointed out that if that were true, there was no way to know if Isaac had flight anxiety or not. Takeoff was a little weird, and Greyland clasped onto Isaac’s hand, not knowing if he himself was anxious or if it was all for Isaac’s sake.

Jade spoke dearly of the trails through the woods behind the house. This was Greyland and Jade’s first time at the cabin, too.

The walls were majestic dark wood. An open floor plan encompassed the kitchen and sitting room. Jade slept in one room and Greyland and Isaac bunked in the other, with one more bedroom to spare. 

For a few spare moments before Greyland arrived to see their room, Isaac stood there alone. By stowing all his clothes into the dresser drawer, Isaac could begin to fantasize right away that he really did live there.

Later that day, Greyland sat at their desk basked in windowlight—the screen of his laptop dark with greasy fingerprints. Headphones on, attached mic brushed askew, he hunched slouchingly over a YouTube video. Slouching was Greyland’s favorite position to be in. His suitcase lay open, the clothes in it stamped and wrinkled.

“You aren’t going to unpack?” Isaac said. 

Greyland merely grunted. “Not right now.”

“Oh, alright. This place is...wow. Thank you for taking me along.” Nobody could say that Isaac was _entitled._

“Thank Gran. It was her idea,” said Greyland. “ _I_ wanted to leave you behind to mow the lawn and mind Gran’s plants, but I alone am not enough company for her, apparently.” Isaac flicked him on the temple and he yelped like a girl. 

“I didn’t know you wanted me to stop mowing your lawn for you,” said Isaac. He gladly minded the Jimenez’s lawn since the grass first ripened every spring. 

The trip served the secondary purpose of allowing for Greyland to see a lung specialist in the nearby area. On one of the days, he and Jade would take a day trip into the city for Greyland’s appointment. Isaac would not be coming with them. “This time, I really do need you to mind the house. Especially because it’s not ours.” Jade laughed nervously. 

“Am I allowed to go out on the trails?” Isaac asked.

“Yes, as long as you lock the door.”

Every morning, a draft of chilly air seeped under the blankets when Greyland rose early from bed. At seven a.m., Jade and Greyland took walks together through the woods. If the call of a particular annoying species of bird did not sear his ears—one that sounded like a cross between a baby crying and a toddler whining—Isaac could fall asleep for another few hours. Greyland kissed him just behind the ear, then replaced the covers as they were, suffocating the cold draft. Maybe, Isaac thought, he could join them once or twice in the mornings. But Isaac knew it would not happen. His sleep schedule had never synchronized with Jade and Grey’s, not in the three years he’d now lived with them—it certainly wouldn’t now, just because they were in a different place. 

Greyland’s doctor’s appointment was scheduled for the eighth day of their stay. “One of the best snot experts on this side of the country,” Greyland announced. 

“Don’t say that, or anything else stupid while we’re there. We’re lucky Jane wrote to him to get you in,” said Jade forebodingly. 

“Jesus, Gran, I’m not ungrateful. I wasn’t _going_ to say anything like that.” He looked to Isaac for relief. Isaac returned to him a wan smile.

* * *

Isaac was notoriously bad at gift-giving. He liked to pretend that it came from his minimalism, not a problem with his character. Or perhaps more hopefully, something resembling a higher-than-average morality—a rejection of the materialistic. But he managed to find a gift Jade might like: a pair of nylon tights to replace ones she failed to repair. 

Jade acted very elated when he presented them to her, saying they were _just what she needed_ and _would be warm for the winter, oh yes…_

Greyland said, “They’re not gonna match half the things you wear, Gran.”

“I don’t care,” responded Jade. 

Isaac asked, “Why not?”

“Well, black matches everything. Navy blue isn’t the same, it only goes with so many things,” chastised Greyland. 

“Oh, shut up. You’re just upset he didn’t get anything for you. They’re great, Isaac,” said Jade. 

“I am not upset that he didn’t get me anything,” contested Greyland. “I’m just saying…” He agreed to a pact with Isaac in which the two did not exchange any gifts. 

Isaac felt bashful when Jade hugged him—of her patronizing need to make him feel like he’d done a good job. 

Greyland broke their pact. 

On the sixth night in the cabin, he gave Isaac a wrapped box. Isaac pulled out a sweater for the university back home, with the tag still on. 

“I’m going back to school.”

“For what,” asked Isaac. 

“Psychology, I think. That’s what I’m registered as,” said Greyland.

Isaac asked him _when do you start,_ and Greyland replied _in the fall._ This coming fall, he meant. Isaac was not allowed to be unhappy for him, so he congratulated him, and ordered him not to forget to call. He was hoping that this would be the part where Greyland told him that _no,_ he was commuting instead, but instead, he promised. 

Isaac ripped the tag off and pulled some of the knit stitches loose. He thanked Greyland, and made a point of wearing it to bed, although at this Greyland laughed and raised his eyebrows at him. 

The scarf smelled like sour acrylic, not Greyland.

* * *

In the Jimenez house, Isaac occupied a quiet, passive presence. But sometimes, when a fire was lit under his ass, he decided it was time to take charge all of a sudden. Months ago, he began looking at houses in and around the small town of Denizen, Alaska. Each house warranted its own pros and cons list written out on piece of narrow grocery list stationery from the Jimenez’s refrigerator. Isaac allowed others to make the decisions for him, and subjected himself only to their borrowed consequences. But in his flurry of grocery sheets, he schemed by himself. One day Greyland came in to his bedroom to check on him, he turned all the papers over and minimized his internet browser. Greyland lovingly sunk his fingers into the nook between Isaac’s neck and shoulder, grabbed their box of CD fragments to cut up while he was waiting for the tea water to boil, and congratulated him on a recent bonus he’d received at work.

Looking for houses in Denizen was difficult because there weren’t many to find. The town’s population consisted of 1,198 people according to the last census. And those who stayed, typically did for a long time. Isaac did not allow himself this fact, for it provided too much hope. He didn’t know if his mother would still be there. He doubted it for his own sake—and focused his efforts instead on finding those who had known her personally.

Years ago, not long before Isaac even moved in with the Jimenezes—for several days (Isaac had spent the past few nights after work hanging around the house) Jade had begged Greyland to change the sheets on his bed, and he finally got around to appeasing her. They lay in a linen lump on the floor while he and Isaac sat on the bare, sheeny blue mattress. They waited for Jade to come and shout at him. While they waited, Isaac somehow entered a tirade about Ryan, whom Greyland had no personal attachment to, but remembered enough from their camp days to express credible dislike for him. Isaac ranted about the very conversation in which he expressed anxiety to Ryan, and Ryan responded by talking more about himself. 

“He asked how _I_ was,” Isaac said emphatically, “and didn’t really want to hear the answer. He was just like, ‘I know how you feel—I have generalized anxiety disorder.’”

Greyland was definitely enjoying himself listening to Isaac rant. His chest puffed out, and he sat upright and cross-legged on the bed. Isaac enjoyed Greyland enjoying him babble. It fueled him to babble even more. 

Greyland said, “That’s ridiculous. It’s like saying, ‘You’re sad today? I know how you feel. I have major depression.’” 

When Greyland put it like that, suddenly Isaac’s obligation to periodically talk to Ryan even though he never liked talking to him seemed pointless. Besides—he had Greyland to talk to now, and that felt far more satisfying. Greyland made all Isaac’s silent dissatisfaction seem valid, and all Ryan’s actions seem silly. 

Greyland also said, “I’m pissed off with him, actually. You always keep quiet, not sharing your feelings with anyone. He should have felt honored. He abused that.”

He jumped up from the bed, and Isaac followed him at hearing Jade’s footsteps down the hall. They pinned the sheets to one, two, three, four corners, and Greyland said, “Honestly Isaac, I’ve never seen you so angry about anything in your life.” That made Isaac laugh. He laughed uncontrollably, and then started to cry. 

In the cabin one night, in the dark hours of the morning, Greyland sat up to choke on his own breath like usual. He wetly coughed and strained and couldn’t breathe. Then a high pitched gasp, like a child with pertussis. The fit would pass, for a half minute only, and air passed thinly through his chest. Then, more choking on air. 

Looking up at the half moons of his fingernails splayed against his sleeveless nightshirt, Isaac thought: Greyland was one of very few people that cared about cracking him open and getting inside him. Nobody else did. Isaac couldn’t be sure he could crack himself open on his own.

Isaac scooted towards him. He laid his head softly flush on Greyland’s stomach. Then coiled his arms around his abdomen—he did not squeeze but his arm muscles thrummed and vibrated with hurt. 

“Stop.”

Greyland’s voice came strained but firm. Isaac did not really hear him. Greyland’s sweaty palm smushed into Isaac's face and folded his neck backward—he said, “Stop, I really can’t breathe,” and “Isaac—” His own name made his arms go slack, and he let himself be shoved off. Beside him, Greyland panted heavily. Isaac lay on his back face up, and listened to him. No green stars. 

When the eighth day came—Greyland’s appointment with the snot doctor—the two left the house that morning in a bustle of edgy apprehension. Jade scolded Greyland for not being dressed the hour before—Greyland yelled at Jade for forgetting a paper copy of some important document. He listened to it before receiving his kiss, then while pretending to be asleep, then during the final restless flurry, and then, silence and an empty house. 

After awakening, Isaac chewed his cereal under a pristinely woven placemat, and looked out the window into the forest. A course air blew through the pipes of the cabin intermittently. He ate Cheerios, with some of Jade’s Fiber One mixed in to make things interesting. _Old people cereal_ as Greyland called it. It really didn’t taste that bad. It just looked like hamster shit. Despite this evidence, Greyland was staunchly anti-bran. Isaac couldn’t change his mind—about a lot of things.

The thought of living by himself scared him, but he would be very soon. He just felt it would be cruel and unfair if both Isaac and Greyland needed to leave Jade at the same time. That would be too much for one person to cope with. He hadn’t found a way to tell Jade, or Greyland, yet. It was hard for Isaac to believe he was ridiculously attached to a house, but he was. He wanted that property in Denizen more than anything. It saddened him that likely, Greyland would want it too.

He got up off his ass and locked the door behind him, to search the woods for kindling. 

But it had rained the night before—turned the ground into wet, spongy dirt and drenched the whole forest in a hot, rain smell. 

This small town would be very far north. On Google Maps, he gazed lovingly after the general store, and the Goodyear plant, as he walked through the stilted, warped panorama of the town. Denizen was a single industry town—Goodyear employed everyone. Goodyear had employed his mother, while she lived there. And Isaac wondered hopefully if they would employ him at Goodyear, simply because one of their current workers remembered his mother. 

In the past, Isaac’s plans to go to Alaska actually made Greyland ecstatic. Only, in Greyland’s mind the two would go together, and Jade would tag along only if she wanted to. It would be a trip—not a move. Greyland wanted to remain close to Jade and Dr. Jane. Overall, it was hard to be angry with him. It would have been far easier if Greyland thought Isaac’s desire to go were stupid. But the fact that Greyland wanted this for him was different. 

The place was quiet. No more birds were feeding, so the pleasant chirping had been stowed away like special occasion clothes. The hot middle hours of the August day had slothed in, and the burning sun prickled him through gaps in the upper canopy when Isaac least expected it. The rain had sloshed out any potential of new firewood, so Isaac walked through the woods and breathed in the muggy air with his hands in his pockets. 

When Isaac spoke about investigation of his mother and her inner circle, Greyland expressed slightly less enthusiasm. This typically elicited a sharp retaliation from Isaac, whenever Grey reminded him of the possibility that he might not find what he’s looking for—which was frequently.

“You can know anything you want to know about your dead parents,” Isaac would say coldly. “You can ask a whole family’s worth of people, you just don’t.”

That usually shut Greyland up quite effectively. Because Greyland, in all his insight and vastness of intellect, would never claim to know how Isaac felt. And Greyland couldn’t deny that he simply had not much of an invested interest in what his parents were like. That he’d seen all he wanted to see. 

Also when he least expected it, Isaac came across the obnoxious bird. Its whine-cry was familiar, but not what it looked like. It appeared as a small, unremarkable gray bird. The only thing that made Isaac believe this small bird as the creator of the sound was watching it cry.

* * *

When Jade and Greyland arrived at the door, Isaac just finished another puzzle from a sudoku workbook he’d found inside the ottoman. At that time, Greyland was all smiles. With a deep clunk on the counter, where Isaac sat at a barstool, Greyland dropped off a swiffer of plastic bagging. 

“You bring me back something?” Isaac joked. 

“Yes. From the Jesus store,” said Greyland. 

Isaac looked to Jade for some semblance of context. Apparently next door to the lung specialist’s office ran a shop called _Jesus Gifts and Treasures,_ which sold Christian-themed nicknacks. This was what Greyland referred to as “the Jesus store.” In front of him, he and Jade unpacked a ceramic cross statue, a ceramic statue of a child with a prayer book, and a teacup candle in a cubical cardboard box. 

Isaac knew Greyland wasn’t religious. He’d attended Catholic school, and he and Isaac had talked about his supposedly miserable days there many times over. Isaac asked which items were his, to which he answered _none of them._ He pushed the small box which housed the teacup candle towards Isaac, though.

He unboxed it. In looping letters it spoke, “Be still and know that I am God.” It was a Bible verse, apparently. “Do I need reminding, or something?” Isaac asked.

“Implying that _I’m_ God?” Greyland pointed a puzzled finger at himself. “No. Not really. Don’t knock yourself out too hard. It’s supposed to smell like lemon merengue.”

Isaac said then, “Lemon merengue, in particular, might knock me out, you think? I don’t light candles much. Do you think this is too advanced for a beginner like me?”

“Oh, you never told me you were a novice. In that case, you shouldn’t be handling this. Lemon’s a very aggressive scent.” Greyland reached over for the box, and eventually carried it back to their room with him. 

Out of the two ceramics, one would be gifted to Dr. Jane’s new grandchild—the other, Jade would keep for herself. Back and forth they decided, and in the end, Jade put off the decision. 

“Thank you for stopping with me.” She kissed Greyland on the cheek, and he was bashful. Isaac learned later that entering “the Jesus store” had been Greyland’s idea in the first place.

* * *

When Greyland referred to the specialist again as “the snot doc” at dinner, Jade said nothing about it. Greyland also wasn’t holding a grudge for Isaac’s display of clinginess a few nights before, though Isaac apologized for it anyway.

Greyland laughed mildly. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not pissed at you.”

“Are you...feeling OK now?” Isaac asked. 

Greyland took a puzzled pause. “Yeah, no lasting damage done. —Are _you_ OK?” Greyland expressed concern under his voice. He quit whisking the egg yolk he was whisking. “I mean, it’s odd, you’re not clingy, just—overly affectionate. For your standards. I like it. Only, not when I’m trying to stay alive, next time, preferably,” said Greyland. “I just wanted to know if something was the matter with you. Are you anxious or something?”

“Fine,” Isaac said. “Were you guys really wanting me to mind the house? Or did you just not want me to come to the city with you, because you knew it would be depressing?”

Greyland frowned into what was now a yellowy gel. “That’s what you’re worried about? Well, no, I didn’t just want you to mind the house. I knew it would ruin the day, and I was hoping that if there was one person who could be left out of it, then the mood of the house might hope to be salvageable. But I know you don’t like to be left out of things.” 

Greyland almost made it seem like Isaac was pissy about not being enough a member of The Cystic Fibrosis Suffering Club, which was definitely _not_ Isaac’s problem. “The meeting wasn’t very productive. He ran a bunch of tests—some of which Jane doesn’t usually run. According to him, my lungs are in slightly worse shape than he was told. And he acted like I should have told him, even though I was at Jane’s last week and she interpreted the same results differently, and told me not to worry about it. The guy talked about all these treatments that he planned to discuss with me, that now are not in the cards, because he’d been _misinformed_ ,” said Greyland.

“I thought Jane was the name of your regular doctor,” said Isaac lowly. 

Greyland looked at him with pause again. “Dr. Jane is a specialist, like him,” he said. “She’s not a GP.”

Isaac felt insulted. Greyland never talked more about his medical issues than he needed to, and Isaac had done him the favor of not asking. How was he supposed to know?

Greyland continued on. “He acted like it was my fault that my health was worse than he thought. He also blamed Jane for not giving him adequate information about me. It was completely pointless visit. I’ve already accepted the condition my lungs are in right now. I accepted the options I have. Now I feel like I’ve gained and lost those things all at once, those things I didn’t have before anyway, and didn’t care about, but now apparently lost, and kind of _do_ care about.”

Whatever Isaac’s response to that was, it was probably inappropriate.

* * *

The cabin had a wood fire, and with some wood stocked in the garage, and Isaac’s help, they were able to light it. Jade had originally put Greyland to the task, only Greyland claimed he didn’t know how. 

“What did I send you to boy scout camp for? If you don’t even know how to start a fire?” Jade said, and Greyland only frowned self-effacingly in response.

Isaac knelt before the grate, setting up a Lincoln log formation out of the wood and and setting the kindling to burn with a rifle-shaped lighter from the kitchen drawer. He would have attempted with rocks, only _this wasn’t his cabin_ and he didn’t want to burn the whole house down. Jade snidely commented, “You’re sure you two were sent to the same summer camp?”

They sat around, doing nothing important. Greyland turned in early. Isaac didn’t follow him. Eventually, he stepped out to gather some slower burning oak wood when the pine in the fire was nearing the end of its life.

“You’ve come back to feed the fire?” Jade asked. She sat comfortably in the armchair with a sock stretched over a darning shroom for mending. 

Isaac knelt before the hearth and fed it two more—prodding the old, charred logs that squeaked like styrofoam as he moved them around to his liking. “Yes. With hopefully something that will last till morning.” He knew Jade liked it when he explained certain things.

Jade nodded. “I trust that you know what you’re talking about. Here. Once you’re finished.” It was then that she held out a sewing needle, and Isaac rose to his feet and fed the thread through the eye in the needle. She thanked him, made some joke about her poor eyesight, and he sat back on his haunches beside her feet. 

“I’m very sorry about what’s come out of that doctor’s appointment,” Isaac said. “Greyland told me it was disappointing.”

“In a way. Ultimately I think being sick is finally somewhat depressing him. Which I don’t quite know how to help him through, frankly,” said Jade.

“You’ve helped him through everything he’s been through beforethere’s not much more preparation you could have,” Isaac said. By the fire, he warmed his hands, which were nearly always cold. But instead, it got his face hot and his upper lip slick while his fingers remained stiff like frozen rocks. 

Jade wheedled another stitch into the hole of her sock. “Yes, but only once before was he ever this hopeless about the CF. When he was in high school, he went through a real rough patch. Other than that, he was mostly come to terms with it. Except now, I think it’s again starting to really upset him. His humor’s always been morbid, but now it’s nothing but in the gallows. Did you notice that?”

Isaac didn’t exactly know what she was referring to. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh.” The ninety-nine cent floss gave a watery sheen to the stiff patch that was nearly filled in. “Well, he’s always made jokes about his disease, yes? But now nearly all of them are about dying. You didn’t notice that?”

“No.” To Isaac, there wasn’t really any discernible difference. 

Jade sighed. “I’m just worried about him. I’m sure you are too. I’m not used to seeing him so down on himself. He’s more irritable, too.”

“He’s not a very depressed sort of person,” Isaac agreed. And for the longest time, Isaac considered that a fair judgement of Greyland.

* * *

Greyland’s laptop sat on the coffee table—the volume all the way up but not that loud. When Isaac announced that he was going on a walk, they both shushed him for talking over the bells and proclamations of the jaunty host. 

Greyland had found a way to log into the Game Show Network’s website from his computer, and together he and Jade watched an episode of a show called _Lingo_ that Jade had actually taped on the DVR before they left home. Greyland had found a way to access it. 

Laptop paused. “What did you say?” Greyland asked. His slender forearm draped lazily over the back of the leather couch.

“I said, I’m going out on the trails for a while,” repeated Isaac. 

“How come you want to go out at this hour?” asked Jade. “Aren’t you worried about getting snatched?” 

“If I’m not back within the hour, by all means, call the police,” he said. “How come you’re watching on that little thing when you could be using the television?” Isaac pointed to the seventy inch screen before them. 

“There’s no HDMI cord,” said Greyland.

“They don’t pay for the GSN,” said Jade. 

“But you can watch _Lingo_ any time you want at your house,” said Isaac. “Why don’t you watch something else while you’re here, and take advantage of the TV?” 

Jade shrugged, and Greyland didn’t give much of a satisfactory answer either. Something like, “didn’t feel like it.” Isaac rolled his eyes, which only Greyland caught, and sneered at. 

“Have fun! Don’t get stabbed.”

Isaac slid the door closed after replying, “I’ll try my best not to.”

Greyland and Jade were certainly morning people, but Isaac found his niche as a night owl. He kicked the swiffling dirt and navigated the prickling twigs under his feet, everything heard but unseen. Through the trees, a huge moon lay fractured beyond the sharp edges of leaves. There was only enough light to see where he was going. The air did not attempt to suffocate him, as it would at ten a.m. 

He thought of Pinestill, and of Manhunt, a game that could only be played in the dark. Kids screamed and hid, in tents and behind trees and in latrines. The trick to winning any sort of hide and seek was to simply keep moving around. People could not be expected to cover the same ground twice. Greyland had naturally been good at that game—he was small for his age, could fit into tiny spaces. It also involved slinking around, rather than running. Isaac had been good at that game, too.

There was a realtor in Denizen so desperate to sell a certain piece of property that the locals believed was last inhabited by a Boo Radley sort of character. His legend persisted for those native to the area. Isaac the Outsider hoped be impervious to its significance. (He wouldn’t be.)

With his savings he could move in, and pay off the mortgage within a year or two. This short time period would then go on to rationalize his decision to stay for at least double the amount of time it took to pay _off_ the mortgage.

When he arrived back inside, Jade and Greyland were not on the couch, but Greyland’s laptop still sat on the coffee table. Its charger hung like a bridge to where it connected to an outlet in the wall. The stickers on the front declared a need to tear down capitalism and the patriarchy. 

Hidden behind a crack in the door to the bathroom, someone sniffled wetly and Greyland’s gentle voice comforted it. Isaac felt like a voyeur listening in, but he would not enter. He washed up and prayed for them to be done soon. 

By the time Isaac changed and brushed his teeth, Jade was _not_ done. But they knew he was there, his presence not a silent one. So, it would have seemed like he was avoiding them if he didn’t next proceed to Greyland’s room. 

He knocked politely on the door and came in. Jade looked ugly. Seeing Jade like that was like seeing her naked—it made him feel ashamed and aware of himself. Greyland smiled tacitly at him.

Isaac did not wish to ask what it had all been about. Jade pretended like her red wrinkles were not puffing out her skin, and Isaac naturally took the obvious course of action and did nothing to acknowledge that her face was no longer one color.

Isaac picked up his _JESUS GIFTS AND TREASURES_ off the dresser top. “Thank you again, for the gift, Jade,” he said.

“It _was_ very nice of you to think of your second born child,” said Greyland jokingly. “My mom was her first, my uncle, the owner of this cabin, was her second. You obviously had to work twice as hard to love him as you did my mom.”

Jade slapped Greyland on the back, which must have dislodged something because he entered a coughing fit. Jade spoke over him as he let it settle. “Of course, Isaac. Greyland didn’t let me buy anything for him, but you weren’t there to refuse, so,” she said lowly. 

Isaac unboxed the teacup candle on the dresser (the one he pretended was his own, and the one Greyland hadn’t emptied his clothes into) and lit it up. Greyland and Isaac squabbled over whether or not it had the lemon merengue scent _Jesus Gifts and Treasures_ advertised on their box, while Jade retreated to her room after agreeing with Isaac (yes, definitely has a lemon scent).

* * *

On the thirteenth night, Greyland’s clothes lay still in his suitcase, less packed and accompanied by a small pile of dirty clothes under the desk—an exception to his typically clean tendencies. It all began in the living room with Isaac’s faltering request that Greyland’s cousin John, or his family, move Greyland’s stuff into his new dorm on Move In Day. 

“I’m taking a trip to Alaska in December.” 

His confidence came from the back he turned to them when he stoked the fire once again. 

“You never told me about that,” said Jade. An edge formed on her voice. “When are you leaving?”

Styrofoam Lincoln logs. Prickling calves, as he stood to face them. Jade was angry. Greyland tried not to anyone in the eye. Jade stood before him. Greyland sat curled on the couch, his thighs near his face. 

“I’m leaving December 14th. There’s a house that’s going up for sal around that time—in Denizen.” He nearly didn’t include the name. Jade knew about his mother’s emigre status there. She asked no questions. “The real estate agent doesn’t want to sell it to me until he meets me. So I can’t wait.”

Jade’s face crinkled with criticism. “Where are you staying until you can move in? And what if you can’t move in, and he decides not to sell it to _you_?” Greyland uttered a brief _Gran,_ but she barely noticed him. 

Isaac answered, “I’ve made an agreement with a family on that same block—they have an attached house out for rent, I’ll be there temporarily—”

“Were these people friends of your mother’s? Or do you know them at all?” Jade asked.

“I spoke to them on the phone, the Rosensons are a family with kids,” said Isaac. He tried to keep his voice level, but it wasn’t really working. “If I don’t take this opportunity to move now, I might not get another one.”

“Are you saying you think this house being sold is a _sign,_ or something?”

“I’m saying that it’s a small town, that God knows when another house will pop up in Denizen again!” Isaac raised his voice, and felt stupid.

Jade’s fell. “You don’t even know when you’re coming back,” said Jade. Her face was in her hands, like a half-cracked walnut. It was difficult to respond to her this way. “Isaac, oh _Goooood…_ ” She dragged out the word, muffled and far away in her palms. 

“I don’t know how long it’ll take to find her, or to find all the information I’m looking for.” Isaac tried to seem as pragmatic as possible about it.

Jade didn’t respond, but Greyland did. “Why Christmastime? Couldn’t you have waited till after?”

Isaac replied, “I don’t know if Mom is still there—but even if she isn’t, then Christmas is still the best chance I have of running into her, if she’s returning to visit family.” In this case, Isaac meant _if she has another family._ Which perhaps would negate the purpose of his timing altogether, if she would refuse to see him. 

Tusk, tutted, and clucked. 

“That’s another reason I can’t wait till Christmas passes,” said Isaac. He said it to Jade’s back. She was already storming to her bedroom in the cabin. She turned around.

“God, I worry about you Isaac! You make decisions, but have you thought at all?”

Holding his tongue, he didn’t tell her that _he gave it thought, a lot of thought_. Greyland, seemingly tied between his loyalties to Isaac and Jade, followed his grandmother into the master. 

So was called an emergency meeting of the Cystic Fibrosis Suffering Club. The two spoke in hushed Spanish, but from what Isaac could tell it was nearly always Greyland’s voice speaking. Jade did not say much at all. Isaac climbed into bed, and when Greyland joined him, he pretended to be asleep—no longer a peninsula, but an island. 

On the whole, Greyland avoided talking about the trip until it happened. “I would have gone with you, had I known,” he’d said though, once.

“You can’t come. You’ll be in school,” Isaac had pointed out.

Greyland frowned. “Well, if we had worked this out together, we could have _both_ gone.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to leave Jade,” said Isaac matter-of-factly. “And I need to go soon, anyway.”

Isaac had entered the process of deciding what to take. It was already decided that Mary would stay, but the band saw would go along with Isaac, and no work on the project would likely be done. Greyland told him, “The Society was supposed to be _ours_. When did _I_ get left out of it?” 

Isaac pretended not to know what he meant, mumbling something about _that’s not the same thing, I’m not growing tomatoes and shit in my backyard,_ but Greyland never really heard him. 

“If Greyland cannot come with him, it’s probably because this is a journey he needs to take alone.” This was Dr. Jane’s newest aphorism, conferred via phone conversation as a weak comfort to Jade and Greyland and to Isaac both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Important note:**
> 
> **If you send me fan art about this story (or any of the others, tbh), kindly note that I will shit into my oatmeal. That being said, please send me fan art. I'm asking you to.**
> 
> **tumblr: emptybattlefield.tumblr.com | email: emptybattlefield@gmail.com**
> 
> thz! yall rok! - EB


	7. The Goat and the Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At summer camp, Greyland and Isaac are causing trouble for the counselors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back, after your regularly-scheduled, mid-novel intermission.

  
"THE GOAT AND THE DOG"  
Decade One  
Eleven Years

_I come back to the memory, safe in my soul  
But now when I arrive, I find myself alone—_

* * *

Most days, Isaac joined Greyland in the med cabin to hang out before the start of daily activities. Recently though, he had begun to spend his time playing tetherball with the other boys instead. 

Not knowing that he was now somewhat unwelcome, the nurse let him in like always. Isaac entered the main room, where Greyland sat on the exam table with his “sheep vest” on—a Dr. Jane-ism. Once, Greyland demonstrated its nickname for Isaac—the vest vibrated riotously, and his voice chattered and shuddered as he spoke and said “ba-aaa.”

Currently, the vest’s violent flapping made the only sound in the room. Today, Greyland was as moody as ever. He avoided Isaac’s gaze. He hacked up a lung once or twice but didn’t speak at all. Even once the machine quieted, he expertly disconnected all the parts and continued to give Isaac the cold shoulder. 

“I—know you deserved to win the egg-on-spoon relay,” Isaac said finally in a low and disgruntled voice. 

“There was no snake,” Greyland said dumbly. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Greyland ignored him. “What’s that in your pocket?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Ashamed, Isaac unpocketed his new, smooth, pink Spaldeen. Boys like Ratface and Plumnose had them. During free time at the start of every day, instead of waiting in line to be creamed in tetherball, each of the proud owners of a Spaldeen competed for bouncing space on the blacktop with the other owners of Spaldeens. The blacktop was a small slab of asphalt with a wall at which you could hurl your Spaldeen.

Isaac’s dad refused to send him one of his own, although he desperately wanted it. It was something he “didn’t need, and would probably lose in the woods within the week anyway,” his words. Even though Isaac promised that he wouldn’t, that he’d _take care_ of his, his dad insisted that there were “plenty of other things to do at camp other than sling a wall ball by yourself.” 

For the egg-on-spoon footrace, Greyland and Isaac had been on separate teams. Isaac ran the second leg of his team. It was a disappointing performance on his part. He hadn’t lost any distance on the other teams, but hadn’t gained any, either. Greyland’s team, on the other hand, was actually winning. Greyland served as their third leg. He ran, hunched over like a question mark over his egg, concentrating hard, his feet pithy on the ground in his bright toed sneakers. Plenty of people booed at him to get him to drop the egg, but plenty cheered him on, also.

Over all the others, Isaac raised his voice and yelled for Greyland.

“Look out! Snake!” 

Greyland, who was reliably gullible, looked up a fatal moment, and his egg tipped over onto the ground. 

It was only a wooden egg, so rather than cracking, it nested in the grass. A counselor told him sadly that he’d have to start from the beginning—losing a lap and a half to Isaac’s team, who easily finished in first.

When Isaac’s team won the footrace, and the winners were offered pickings from a prize bucket. He secured the coveted Spaldeen—because there had only been _one_ , and because the other Spaldeen owners so rarely shared, and because Greyland usually spent free time in the morning taking medicine or striking out in tetherball again and again or yabbering away to his Grandma on the Call Home Phone—he didn’t need a Spaldeen.

“I’m still really sorry. You can use it whenever you want to. I promise, I’ll give it over whenever you ask,” Isaac said.

“I don’t care,” Greyland grunted petulantly.

Isaac grew angry. “You don’t even like sports anyways,” he muttered.

“Oh yeah? Well this was the only one I was allowed to play, because I’m a _liability_ , and you screwed me over!” Such was heavy language for Greyland.

Because Greyland had bad lungs, and because Jade was viciously overprotective of him, he wasn’t kidding in the beginning when he said he wasn’t permitted to take part in most sports. Although the egg-on-spoon race was a timekiller activity meant to fill up McKenna and Collymore’s activity sheet, it was one of the precious few in which they’d let him participate. Isaac knew he ruined that for him, and he truly did feel bad. 

Isaac didn’t have a response, so Greyland said, “You sabotaged me in that race. And you’re always doing things like this.”

To combat Greyland’s whining, Isaac quickly adopted the cool, rational tone of voice that Anthony always used when _Isaac_ whined, in order to win arguments. “I’ve never before cheated you in a game. What’s sabotage mean?”

“It means you prevented me from winning, _on purpose_.” 

“It was _on accident._ I really _thought_ I saw a snake,” argued Isaac. 

“Liar!” His voice came out like a whine. “Well you also never let me join in when I want to play all together,” Greyland whined. It was hard to take him seriously when he whined, or described hanging out as “playing”.

Isaac suppressed the urge to laugh or smile, so that Greyland wouldn’t think Isaac was ridiculing him. He pretended to be enthralled by a sign with cartoon pictures of influenza germs marching and grimacing inside a blood vessel. He said, “I can be friends with both you and the other guys.”

“Yes, I know. But when Sammy asked if we were friends, you said we were _former_ friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” Isaac lied, even though he totally did and began to feel immensely guilty for it. “I said we were _forming_ friends.”

Greyland made an exasperated noise. “You’re always ditching me for Ryan, and Wyatt. When you and I are here by ourselves, you’re nice to me. But in front of everyone else, you’re tormenting me, and throwing my stuff in the fire.”

At the last campfire, Greyland had handed over his box stitch for Isaac to do while he stepped away from the fire. Somehow, it ended up in the center of the Lincoln logs. Isaac claimed it was an accident. They both knew it hadn’t been. As the fabled tale went, the plastic lanyard truly did melt.

“You can’t make me stay here, and hang out with you.” A strong image of the crippled boy from _The Secret Garden_ crossed his mind. “What’s tormenting?” he asked then, although he didn’t really need for Greyland to define the word.

“Ugh! Stop that. I hate you,” he said. “You’re a dog, is all you are.”

“A dog?” Isaac asked.

“You, and everyone else. I don’t understand why you all hate me. The wolf and the dog agree—at the expense of the goat which they eat!” Greyland cried.

It sounded like another one of Dr. Jane’s aphorisms. “I don’t know what that means,” Isaac said, another laugh trailing from his mouth. He was a dog, though. Not even a wolf. _Just a dog, is all you are._

“Get out,” Greyland said, “I don’t want to see you anymore. You all suck!” 

“You’re kicking me out of the med cabin?” Isaac said. 

“Yes.”

“You can’t do that.”

“You don’t even need to be here anyway,” Greyland said bitterly. “Go play foursquare or something, stupid.” 

He left, but not before the now stern, fat nurse beckoned Isaac into her office. She made him stand, shifting from foot to foot. “Hey. How come you’re being so mean to him?”

Isaac stared at the corner of her desk while he answered, “We had a fight the other day,” Isaac lied mutely.

“Somehow, I think you’re leaving out some parts,” she said. “You two squabbled so hard you both missed flag.”

Past the grimy glass of the bright, tiny window, Isaac watched two small, greasy-haired brothers tugging the American flag up the pole while the entire camp observed. Isaac tried to leave at that moment, but the nurse ordered him to stay.

“You’ll both do tomorrow’s flag instead,” she instructed. “The other counselors say that you and him are giving them plenty of trouble. And they’ve told me it’s mostly you that’s doing the bullying.”

The word coolly stung Isaac. Before this, he hadn’t thought of himself as a _bully._

“I think you’re a good kid. You don’t need to be doing this. Whatever you and Greyland are fighting about, put it to rest,” she said. “It can’t be worth calling your Dad about.”

Like anyone, the threat of a call home to his Dad made his heart race. He gave her his vapid promise.

* * *

McKenna and Collymore were now separating Isaac and Greyland for every activity.

At campfire, it was supposed to be Isaac and Greyland’s turn for fire duty. Greyland was still on, but Sammy took Isaac’s place. Stupidly, Isaac asked how come he’d been relegated to food prep and cleanup instead.

“Because you and Greyland together are trouble,” Collymore answered candidly. 

Isaac was embarrassed of himself. Until Collymore had said that, Isaac thought of the separation as a good thing. Since camp started, Isaac got stuck with Greyland for _every single activity_ because no other kid could refrain from being mean. Even now, Sammy looked disgruntled to have been forcibly partnered with Greyland and separated from Eric. It was all so unfair, that the counselors had taken advantage of Isaac’s kindness towards Greyland, and that the only way for Isaac to take a stand was by making trouble, by being just as mean as the others. Certainly, Isaac did not have to try very hard to pretend things were not his own fault.

Isaac wandered near the fire, just to watch McKenna light it. Greyland and Sammy helped him. Isaac felt a familiar pang of jealousy. Isaac looked Greyland’s way, then pretended he hadn’t. 

Avoiding Isaac’s eyesight as well, Greyland hung his head. “I’m not supposed to talk to you,” he twined. 

After the fire crackled and the hot, ashy air swept up into their faces, McKenna hoisted himself up from his knees. He said, “Isaac, are all the oranges done? Finish them, then. Greyland, go help Sammy carry the cooler back to the kitchens.”

“I thought Eric was Sammy’s buddy,” said Greyland. 

“Well, you’re his buddy right now. So go find him before he leaves,” McKenna ordered.

Back at the table, Wyatt, Ryan, worked with the older of the greasy-haired brothers who took Isaac’s place as color bearer at flag. His name was Terrence. The three of them sat hollowing oranges. After scooping the fruit out, they would then fill them with birthday cake batter from a box. The whole affair was absolutely nauseating to Isaac. But he wouldn’t dare complain—he made a point in making himself out to be not the kind of person who accepted special treatment, unlike Greyland.

Out of the three other boys, only one of them—Ryan—ate the fatlike clumps of discarded orange guts. Ryan asked Isaac, “Are you and Greyland not friends anymore or something?” A veiny, yellow string hung from his mouth.

“Friends is a strong word,” Isaac replied. Relief like a vibrative thrill warmed Isaac whenever he made fun of Greyland. It was like chopping through a tense cord.

“Whatever. How come he’s mad at you?” There were only three jagged-pointed spoons available at the table. Isaac made sure to grab one for himself when they started. Ryan was the only one left gutting with his bare hands. The underneaths of his nails were already yellow.

“God knows,” Isaac said, as caustically as possible. The other three boys at the table snickered. “I’m just pissed off that you-know-who didn’t put _me_ on fire duty instead.”

“You-Know-Who? You mean my boy M-squared?” tittered Ryan. It wasn’t the first time he’d told that joke; he tried desperately to be funny.

“M-squared, Jesus fuck, Ryan, one day he’s going to kill you and stuff your severed skull under a tent,” said Wyatt. The group laughed. Wyatt acted like he hadn’t noticed.

“Sure. Him,” Isaac said quietly, practically breaking his neck in surveillance, to see if Martin McKenna was around to hear.

“Well, I don’t know, Isaac,” Wyatt began sarcastically, “I’m pretty sure he’s trying to punish you. Why in the hell then, would M-squared want to give _you_ the better job?”

“Because _I’m_ passionate about making fires,” insisted Isaac irritably. “And I’m better at it than Greyland is.”

“Everyone likes making fires. It’s the only fun job,” said Wyatt offhandedly.

“You probably _are_ the best, but M-squared’s just trying to make things into what he thinks is _fair_ ,” said Terrence with disgusting emphasis on the last word. “Greyland’s so annoying. I hate him. He always strikes out in tetherball on the third hit.”

“ _I_ always strike out in tetherball, something like the third hit,” said Isaac.

“Yeah. But you don’t cry about the rules, or try to argue them, after you’ve struck out.” 

It was true that Isaac always cut his losses. It was a source of pride for him. Additionally though, he’d die to see the greasy-haired Terrence dethroned from the tetherball pole. Although it was only a game, Terrence took it laughably seriously, and he played hard—to him, serving the ball was nearly always synonymous with slinging it. Every day he thumbed through a long line of kids that waited to play winner to him, including Greyland.

Grabbing the string was against the rules, and Greyland always grabbed the string. Because he felt it _should be_ allowed—that was his problem. He contested the rules he didn’t like, instead of just accepting them. It wasn’t Isaac’s fault that Greyland was piss-poor at tetherball, as well as most other games that involved multiple players, due to his intolerably low threshold for frustration. 

“The first day we met him, was in the woods the first day we got here, during campfire,” Terrence went on. Isaac’s ears pricked up. He’d always wondered what made everyone throw Greyland dirty looks after returning to get kindling from the woods. 

Terrence said, “Ryan threw a rock at a toad, and Greyland completely lost his shit over it. Everyone’s trying to tell him it’s just a joke—but he just kept _yelling_ at us...”

“Ryan _is_ psychotic,” Isaac neutrally replied—only because Ryan had gotten up to bother McKenna and couldn’t hear.

“Yeah, but the thing had already hopped away without a scratch on it. But Greyland kept flipping his shit anyway. What’s his deal?” When Ryan climbed back into the table with McKenna’s brutal gaze still glued to his back. Terrence said— “Hey, Ryan. Isaac just called you a psychotic.”

“Oh, thanks, Isaac,” Ryan replied, and shoveled more orange innards into his mouth. 

Ryan was psychotic. Greyland was an annoying fart. Both could be true at the same time.

* * *

That morning, the two performed flag raising together. As anyone could expect, Greyland was still the caller—a role generally regarded as the most prestigious of all positions. But Isaac had been demoted.

Isaac never wanted to be caller. He cringed at the way some of the boys brought their voices to an almost militant shrill. The caller was a good role for Greyland, though. He yelled loudly enough to be moderately obnoxious. 

“Boy Scout attention,” Greyland hollered, and his funny accent was naked in the air in front of everyone. “Color guard attention. Color guard advance.”

During the ritual, Isaac looked around the audience for leftover snickers. Most other boys fidgeted distractedly instead of paying Greyland any mind. The vibrative thrill did not rise up.

The color bearer—the front-most boy who led the group and got to carry the triangulated American flag—was the second most prestigious role besides caller. Yesterday, Isaac would have been color bearer. Today, he’d been downgraded to an ordinary member of the color guard. Once Greyland beckoned the color guard to the flagpole, Isaac trailed behind his replacement.

Even worse, Isaac formed part of the _middle pair_ in the bullet-shaped seven-person color guard formation. Everybody knew that a flag had only four corners—no need for two extraneous pairs of hands. It was a feel-good participation role, more than anything else. The flag merely grazed the fingertips of the _middle pair_ of guards when unfolding into a cresty sea, lofted by the color guard.

Shoulder to shoulder with the other boys, the flag flopped out of its triangle and into a cresty sea, lofted by their awaiting hands.

When Isaac saw an opportunity to grab the galvanized ring nearest him—he reached over his neighbor to articulate it with the flag clasp. Isaac retracted his hands just in time for Greyland to call for the pledge of allegiance—at which Isaac murmured wordlessly as the flag wilted into the sky.

* * *

All the rest of the boys had left the campsite, and Isaac was stuck alone in the latrines.

He felt dizzy and nauseous as he hugged the toilet, heart thumping in his chest before preparing to retch.

He emptied his stomach contents, which fell with a delayed, pithy plopping sound twenty-five feet deep into the ground. The hole was dark, and only a few beads of light twitched when his plummeting vomit shrunk into dark. 

Although it was the first of many future, similar episodes, today Isaac didn’t know what was happening to his body, and he was afraid.

Someone else had entered the latrine. “Isaac?” Greyland’s voice sounded slightly irritated. “They sent me in here to come get you. They’re about to leave without us. C’mon.”

Isaac’s heart sank. Greyland was _the last_ person he wanted to witness the complete puking up of his guts. Against his will, he retched again, and this of course beckoned Greyland’s shuffling footsteps. “Oh—you’re sick—”

As if that were not already obvious. Tears bit the creases of his eyes. “You need to get McKenna.”

“I’ll go find him. Stay here, and wait—okay, Isaac?” Greyland’s speech was gentle—overly sympathetic, to be honest. “I’m sorry, nobody knew you were throwing up in here.”

Isaac coughed until his eyes went bleary. “I need new clothes.”

“Sure, but first I gotta tell the rest of the group to wait up.” He returned to Isaac for only a moment. “Hang on, okay?”

“Okay.”

“It’s gonna be alright.”

“Don’t—”

“What?” Greyland said. He was already at the door.

It hurt to talk. Isaac meant to tell Greyland not to _make a scene_ out of it, since he was known for bringing along the dramatics. But, he retched again before he could finish his sentence. 

“I have to leave, to get McKenna. I won’t be long, just _stay there_.” Greyland threw a few additional reassurances back at him before leaving. The thought of all the boys knowing him as _the boy who threw up_ was thoroughly intoxicating to Isaac. 

Minutes later, Greyland returned, tugging McKenna by the sleeve. From the doorway, McKenna asked warily: “Isaac, are you ill?”

Isaac merely dry heaved in response. 

Isaac repeated that he needed new clothes. Vomit clung to his shirt and pants—when the first puke had come up, he hadn’t made it to the latrine in time. Isaac thought he’d rather kill himself than go out and be seen like that.

McKenna lugged him up from the vomity stall into a neighboring one. Greyland tailed him, insisting,“I can go get them. I can go by myself, since this is an emergency.”

“You don’t need to do that. Collymore will take you,” McKenna said gruffly.

So Greyland and Collymore left for Isaac’s cabin. McKenna took out some crushed crackers, and made Isaac eat them. He fed him water, and Isaac threw all of it back up within ten minutes. 

Once he had emptied all of his stomach contents, his throat then threatened to throw up his internal organs. There was debate about his becoming dehydrated and whether or not it was best to send him to the hospital.

He imagined the ambulance arriving—when it did, everyone at camp would be exiting their cabins to see who was being carted off. Isaac grew hot with embarrassment at the mere thought. Coupled with not knowing what the hell was happening to his body, against his better will, he started to cry.

Amongst the murmurs between McKenna and Collymore about the emergency room—Greyland’s face had grown fearful at the mention of the hospital. He quickly began babbling on about _being brave_ and _not being scared_ — “You’re strong, Isaac, use that moxie of yours and you’ll be fine—”

“Shut up.”

Collymore sent Greyland back to the group after that. 

McKenna and Collymore continued to sit with him. Because Isaac only rejected the first few crackers and kept down the rest of the sleeve, Isaac wasn’t sent to the ER. It was night, and the two men took Isaac back to the counselors’ quarters so that McKenna could keep an eye on him one-to-one. 

“You’ll need a shower, you smell like puke,” said McKenna offhandedly when they arrived in a small room with a low ceiling thoroughly decorated with posters of heavy metal bands and one small window.

The counselors’ quarters had a single, well-maintained bathroom with a shower. It had hot water with a strong pressure. Isaac dressed and wandered back into McKenna’s quarters. A cot and blankets had been dragged in for him to sleep on.

Isaac did his best to get comfortable. 

While settling into his own bed, McKenna propped his head up on his elbow. His wrist intersected a giant image of Seether’s _Finding Beauty In Negative Spaces_ album behind him. The doll-like creature on the cover was creepy, and it freaked him out. McKenna asked Isaac tensely, “Do you feel like you’re going to throw up again?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

He was, but when McKenna suggested, “Why don’t you keep a trash can by you just in case,” Isaac complied. McKenna also forced him to drink water, as much as he was willing to consume. When he awoke during the night to pee because of all the drinking, McKenna awoke as well.

“Isaac? Were you vomiting in there?” McKenna’s voice was groggy, but gentle in the dark. 

“No. Just using the bathroom,” Isaac said, walking back from the bathroom and climbing into his cot. The cot squeaked beneath him as he tried to settle under the blankets again.

“Is that bed uncomfortable, or something?”

“No.” It was, but his pride and unwillingness to complain got the better of him. “I just want to sleep.”

“Oh, alright. Good night.” McKenna rolled over in bed, and left him alone until morning.

Forced to sit in the med cabin the next morning, this was the first time Isaac was left alone in nearly twelve hours. Greyland came in like usual for his breathing treatments and to call his grandmother. He made Isaac say hello to her, which he did not want to do. Isaac was still exhausted from McKenna’s constant probing from the night before.

Greyland didn’t speak much, but he did smile kindly after pressing the phone back to his ear. He spoke loudly, loud enough for Isaac to hear, like usual. “I’ll be careful, tonight. I promise! Oh, thank you for letting me…”

Isaac watched the pelting of Spaldeens and the tetherball game out the window next to the poster about influenza. Terrence creamed two kids in under a minute. A record.

* * *

“Why, hello Isaac. How are you _feeling_?” Ryan asked while waiting in line for morning swim with a giggle under his voice. “Will you be joining us for a game of Manhunt later today?”

“Yeah,” Isaac answered. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Manhunt was one of very few games that was actually fun. Nobody in their right mind opted out of it.

Ryan replied, “You threw up all last night, didn’t you? That’s why you were hanging out with the ol’ M-squared?”

“I threw up _once_. _He_ was being a bitch about it.” He added, “It’s because of this shitty food. Who wouldn’t puke when you eat the same shit week after week?” 

Ryan nodded in agreement. 

Wyatt sniggered. “Well, it’s nice to know that you’re okay.”

“Why?” asked Isaac. 

Wyatt rolled his eyes and jerked his chin slightly forward. Discreetly, Isaac turned around towards Greyland, who stood second in line—slouching against the fence, goggles hanging from his neck, opening and closing his glasses case.

“He told you that?” Isaac asked. 

Ryan laughed, and said, “What? He was just very concerned about you.”

Wyatt smirked. He and Ryan exchanged fruity looks. “He asked us _to pray for you._ ”

Isaac felt the back of his throat throw itself against the root of his tongue. He didn’t understand why Greyland had to be such an _obstacle_. If he could just mellow out and shut his mouth once in a while, then maybe they could have been friends.

Weeks prior, Greyland conspired excitedly with Isaac about the perfect Manhunt hiding spot that he had contrived. Inside the shelter past Deer Run, there were barrels and Greyland planned to climb into one of them and hide there. At the time, Isaac complimented him on the idea—it truly was ingenious. Not because nobody ever thought to hide there—but because nobody ever did, because the place was filthy with wasps. Greyland had balls for hiding there, just to win.

The chance that Greyland was not in his prized hiding spot was slim. Isaac and Greyland were put on separate teams (of course), and Isaac planned to seek Greyland out alone, but Wyatt and Ryan insisted on tagging along. Isaac didn’t say no. 

Ryan marched right in. The wasps hovered and dropped in the light of the fluorescents. Wyatt followed. Isaac stood by te door. One of them would tag Greyland, and he would then have to go back to the fire and sit in “jail.”

Ryan removed the lid from the only barrel that had one. He threw back a look of satisfaction. Ryan stepped back. Greyland’s head and torso appeared above the lip of the barrel. Isaac’s face was the first he saw.

Pissed off and with a bit of difficulty, Greyland climbed out of the giant wooden barrel. Ryan couldn’t contain his cackling. 

“Go on. I’ll give you a head start,” Wyatt said.

Greyland took the bait, and made a break for it. Ryan tackled him not a second later. Helplessly, Greyland wrestled underneath him on the concrete floor of the shelter. When Ryan pinned his arm behind his back, and Greyland stopped struggling and screamed and like a girl. 

“Time! _Time!_ ” His body nearly convulsed with each time he called out.

“There is no time-out in manhunt, dummy,” said Ryan breezily.

Wyatt laughed under his breath, and then looked to Isaac, who didn’t smile.

“I said _time!_ Isaac!!”

Swatting away a wasp near his face, Ryan then pinned Greyland harder till his chin smushed against the ashy white grit on the floor. Greyland fought and shouted even though there was absolutely no chance of him being let up. Ryan was pleasantly amused by his effort. 

At this, Isaac tried to leave.

Only, Martin McKenna had heard the screaming. He bowled Isaac out of the doorframe on his way into the shelter. 

Instantaneously, Ryan skittered off of and away from Greyland—but McKenna grabbed him by the shoulder and immobilized the kid against his thick body, spitting viciously about him being put in “permanent jail,” completely oblivious to the other three kids in the room, one of which still lay on the floor. Greyland made no effort to get up. 

“Ow! You’re pressing on my _fucking wasp sting!_ ” Ryan sputtered.

“Quit swearing, Jesus Christ,” McKenna hissed. 

“Are you okay?” Isaac hovered over Greyland, who lay face up, breathing. Greyland was certainly conscious—but he didn’t look at him, and he didn’t answer.

Wyatt stood inspecting several wasp stings on his forearm and thigh. Isaac now felt certain hot patches of his skin throbbing and itching, also.

Collymore pulled a wheezing Greyland to his feet. From his shorts pocket, Collymore withdrew Greyland’s inhaler, and fed it to him. Word was already spreading that the game was over. From outside, older, deeper voices repeatedly hollered for all boys to withdraw from hiding. 

“C’mon. You’re both staying with me,” ordered Collymore. He led Greyland out of the shelter, and Isaac almost followed him.

Wyatt stood before the large wooden barrel as if he hadn’t heard. Isaac stumbled over—an archipelago of stings on the back of his knee made it slightly painful to walk. He peered in.

Small crinkles of light danced at the bottom of the barrel. Half a foot of dead wasps collected at the base—some of them ground flat. Wyatt kicked the barrel, and they briefly shivered and rustled.

“He has fucking guts,” Wyatt said, hushed.

All four of them—Greyland, Wyatt, Ryan and Isaac—sat atop the exam table in the med cabin, where Greyland every other day sat alone, legs dangling and comparing wasp stings. They had just recieved “The Anointing of the Toothpaste”, as Greyland called it. Isaac would have laughed.

“McKenna dragged me by the arm, and it hasn’t stopped hurting since he did that,” Ryan growled. Holding his arm aloft, he surveyed the raised sting at eye level.

“Nobody would have been stung if you hadn’t swatted the first one away in the first place,” muttered Wyatt. “You’re not supposed to swat at wasps, stupid.”

“Jesus H. Christ. This thing is _growing_ still,” Ryan groaned. He shoved his forearm in Isaac’s face—he smelled sharp mint—and then Wyatt’s. Wyatt winced. “Look.”

“Sure,” said Wyatt shortly. 

“You don’t think it is?!”

“Shut up,” Greyland retorted, shooting them both a look. “It’s not a big deal. It’s like you guys are babies.” 

His face was hardened and sour, and he was the only one of them not examining any of his inflamed stings. Isaac could only assume Greyland was making a point in ignoring the monstrous, blue-tipped welt on his jaw.

Wyatt and Ryan’s mouths hung agape for a moment. They tried to laugh, but responded with nothing.

“What?” Greyland asked. He directed the question with a fiery gaze at Isaac. 

“Nothing,” answered Isaac squarely.

“I thought you were my friend,” Greyland sighed quietly. “I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

He talked like he thought he was on one of those Disney shows he watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Eva--if you're reading this, _good!_ Haha. It can only mean time spent away from that dreadful law school subreddit you subscribe to. I love you and miss you. <3
> 
> Thanks for reading, folks!


	8. Long Night, No Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little life continues on the East Coast.

  
"LONG NIGHT, NO STARS"  
Decade Three  
Twenty Nine Years

_And all the pills that you would take  
Just to help you stay awake  
Couldn't guide you on your way back home to shore..._

* * *

Greyland soon stopped working at the Radio Shack altogether. Today, during his exorbitant newfound free time, in the laundry hall he attended to his load of clothes—and issued a distantly furious “Fuck!” that could be heard from the kitchen.

After Isaac got up from the table, he found Greyland standing sorely in front of the wet, hairy, and wrinkled clothing piled in the laundry basket. Greyland tsked and clucked in much the same way that Jade did. 

“What’s wrong? Is the dryer not working?” Isaac asked, staring down at the clothes. 

“No, Isaac. I’m an idiot,” Greyland groaned. 

He picked up a shirt of his, a flannel vest now speckled with white spots. “Yeah. Idiot fucking me put in Clorox instead of fabric softener. God, I don’t even know if I’ve broken the wash machine. I’m so fucking stupid,” he said. 

“How many of your clothes are in this load?” Isaac asked, staring stupidly into the basket between them. 

“Nearly all of them,” he replied grimly. 

Isaac googled “accidentally put bleach in fabric softner dispenser clothes” and quickly analyzed the prevailing opinions. Meanwhile, Greyland swayed with his head in his palms, pretending he didn’t exist.

“Well, it looks like you won’t break the washer this way. But you’ll need to cycle your clothes again to get the bleach out.” Isaac heaved the wet lumps of laundry into the upper drum.

“The stains are permanent. They’re not going to come out just by washing them,” Greyland retorted. He held a satin shirt, thumbing one of the bleach spots, grimacing. 

“I know. But by washing them again, the bleach at least won’t sit in the fabric and damage them more,” answered Isaac. “That’s what the Internet said.”

“Guess I’m wearing this to the Baptism,” said Greyland sorely. He pried taut the blouse he currently wore. “I don’t even fucking _like_ this shirt, I’ve been wearing it for three days.” 

Isaac punched in the settings for Greyland’s wash. When Greyland looked up, they caught eyes momentarily. Greyland burst into a laugh. And then into tears.

* * *

The Baptism for a baby on the Ruiz’s side would be held early the next morning. Isaac wasn’t quite sure how they’d roped him into going. Probably because one of them suggested he go, and he never got around to objecting. Before he knew it, one day at the breakfast table Jade asked him when Darryl would let him take a day off to go to the rental suit shop. 

“I still don’t understand how I was invited in the first place.” 

“Jade needs to go because it’s _her_ great-grandniece. She wants someone to go with her. And I want someone to go with me.” At the kitchen table, Greyland tipped his chair back onto its hind legs. “So.”

The morning before the Mass, Isaac flipped through _Bits and Pieces_ , a game and puzzle magazine mailed to Jade through subscription. It was one of many subscriptions Jade received—including but not limited to science magazines she used to pore over but now skimmed and clothing stores she hadn’t bought from in months.

He found _Bits and Pieces_ while shuffling through paper piles on the table, waiting for Greyland to finish deciding on something to wear. Isaac flipped through the magazine absently. 

It sold an impressive array of puzzle trays—contraptions built similarly to breakfast trays or coffee tables. Only, their top surfaces were carpeted by a material as bright and green and delicate as billiards felt, which kept the puzzle and pieces in place, Jade once explained. Some even contained tiny drawer compartments for separate puzzle piece piles. Isaac once asked her if she would want one of these—she said she didn’t. She was content to admire them from afar. Personally, he didn’t understand why then, she still paid for the magazine.

Beneath the magazine lay a paperback book titled _The Four Things that Matter Most_ by Ira Byock, courtesy of Dr. Jane. The subtitle claimed it to be _A Book About Living_. In the bedroom, Greyland still shuffled about. He flipped through that once he finished with _Bits and Pieces._

The book had lied terribly—although, it made sense why Dr. Jane had bought Jade a copy. It was no ordinary self-help book, but specifically a self-help book about grief. “The Four Things”—capitalized like a proper noun—that Byock (another doctor) referred to were as follows: “I forgive you,” “please forgive me,” “thank you” and “I love you.” The thought behind them was that grief could be made easier once The Four Things were exchanged. In a painfully obsessive way, Isaac read the entirety of the first chapter, and then shrouded the book again by slipping it under _Bits and Pieces_. When Greyland returned to the kitchen fully dresses, the paperback cover of _The Four Things That Matter Most_ pricked up in a mocking slope, as if to spy on the two of them.

Isaac didn’t need to rent a suit to go to Church in, since he already had one from his senior prom, tucked away somewhere in his and Anthony’s storage unit. Isaac hadn’t really gotten to ever enjoy his high school prom. As per his usual, Isaac smoldered, rather than spoke, and this was one of the things he smoldered about. Some girl from another school came as his date. Most of his time got spent unduly preoccupied with a boy from his English class. It was maybe this undue preoccupation that prevented Isaac from noticing when she slinked off to smoke pot in the women’s bathroom. Both he and she got kicked out within the first hour—even though it was _his_ prom, even though he’d saved up for it, and when he came home early, his father screamed at him so voraciously he thought he’d popped an eardrum, and only rehearsed his response after he’d trudged up the steps to shower.

Greyland hadn’t attended his prom, either. Originally, Isaac assumed that one of his untimely three-week hospitalizations had screwed him over, but Greyland dissolved this belief. “Oh, no. I chose not to. At the time I thought it was all very silly,” Isaac remembered him saying. “But it would have been nice though, to get to have gone with you.”

Greyland entered the kitchen, and Isaac stood up when he did. They would be leaving soon. First, Greyland scrutinized himself in the glass door of the oven. Isaac snorted. 

“What?” Greyland asked—stooped and now, head cocked.

Isaac said pointedly, “You’re looking at yourself as if you didn’t just walk out of a room with a mirror.”

Greyland rolled his eyes, jerked his chin. “You look nice,” he said.

Isaac put his hands in his pockets, creating monstrous bulges on either side of his pants to make himself look not-so-nice. “You think so?” he said.

From a speaker plugged into Jade’s phone, whittled some fifties doo-wop—a style of music Greyland constantly spoke about how much he hated. “You’re dancing,” Greyland said.

“I’m not.” 

“You’re swaying, at least.”

“That’s not dancing,” said Isaac. He’d always thought Jade’s music was nice. Quite easily he imagined her with a small group of peers, half-lit gymnasium, paper streamers on a Friday night with teenagers, dancing. She spoke about it often.

Greyland held out his hand, and an awkward moment passed where Isaac stared at him while growing hot.

Greyland clucked his tongue, and Isaac gave in.

Ambling around the kitchen, Isaac tried to follow Greyland, who seemed to be tugging at his arms with choreography of his own. Swinging their arms like a forklift in a dopey little circle, it felt stiff and ironic more than anything else. Greyland took Isaac into one of those spins—and of course Isaac got stuck under the crook of Greyland’s elbow. Every now and then, Isaac’s brain would zero in on the applause of scuffs and squeaks their dress shoes made on the floor. But if he concentrated hard enough, he could narrow his focus to the brittle, whistling singers instead.

After two songs, Greyland sat back down, and Isaac crouched before the tile floor, rubbing out the scuff marks they’d both made with a waggling finger. Greyland’s breath snarled like a dragon, and Jade entered the room presently wearing some of the most age-appropriate clothes he’d ever seen her wear. 

Isaac didn’t really know if they were together. The two had tacitly agreed to keep away from that conversation. When Greyland and Jade’s family asked, they told each what they wanted to hear, whatever their best guess at that was.

On their bed, Isaac left one of his flannel shirts—similarly colored at least, to the one Greyland ruined. When the family arrived home after the Baptism, Isaac invited Greyland to change into it. It wasn’t as trendy as Greyland’s old one—and was sort of dumpy-looking, really. Isaac voiced that, as a solemn apology in memoriam of Greyland’s damaged clothes. Greyland put it on anyway. He looked dumpy in it. Or at least, small

“I’m sorry for bitching at you before,” Greyland said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Isaac answered, and changed the subject almost immediately. “What part are you up to in Kimmy Schmidt? Just so I can reset Netflix to where you are, after I’ve watched it.”

“Considerate of you,” Greyland replied. “I’m at exactly the part where Tina Fey’s drunk therapist character comes in. Reminds me of _you_ when you’re drunk.”

“I do not have a separate personality when I’m drunk,” Isaac retorted.

“Not really,” conceded Greyland. “You’re much looser and excited, though.”

“That’s _everyone_ when they’re intoxicated.”

“Okay, can I tell you something that was really awful at the time, but now is probably funny?” asked Greyland. “It was our first year dating or something. It was at the park. I was actually significantly hammered, while I was out with you that day know.”

Isaac thought of passing a semi-snarky comment about how _sweet_ he found it that Greyland was _too nervous_ to be alone with _him_ unaided by alcohol. But instead he said, “I thought it was weird that Louise drove you, since you had a license _and_ a car.”

“Yeah, well. It was kind of her fault to have a party beforehand, because Greyland Finally Got Laid. I mean really—she put that on an _actual_ banner, and invitations.”

“Another one of your parties that I wasn’t invited to,” Isaac jived.

“Jesus Christ, you’re brutal,” he replied. “But anyway. We got carried away.”

“So you’re confessing now to being intoxicated one day when we went out,” Isaac said, “is that your ‘Please forgive me’?”

Isaac hadn’t thought of his Four Things yet—he didn’t know why he raised the subject, although giving up on them was still an option. 

Greyland replied, “I guess. But really, if I had to be seriously sorry about something, it’d be making you ever feel like you were on the outside of things.”

Isaac acquired an all-too familiar sinking feeling in his stomach. At the Baptism, a fair amount of Greyland and Jade’s family members weren’t happy to see him there at all. Isaac’s Alaska voyage wasn’t a secret, and some refused to look at him since Isaac’s leaving messed Greyland up quite a bit after his abrupt departure, something he wasn’t apt to admit. “You don’t have to apologize for your aunts that cursed me out—”

“No, no, it’s not all about that,” Greyland cut him off with a wave. “I love you too much for you to feel like you’re not a real part of the family. That’s it.”

“Ooh,” said Isaac. “You hit the _I love you_ part too. Double whammy.”

“Thanks,” Greyland said.

Isaac then said, “But I don’t think it’s your fault. I probably treated you like you were some sort of untouchable person in the sky. Like I could move away, and—well, not like you wouldn’t _care_ , exactly, just that you’d continue existing as well as you did before you met me.”

“A person in the sky? Like a god?” Greyland quipped. “Because that’s what a _person in the sky_ is, evidently.”

“Yeah, alright, that sounded stupid,” he admitted.

“Maybe, but I’m not worse off that you said it,” answered Greyland.

* * *

Finally, they finished Mary late in fall. Jade insisted on displaying their work in the kitchen, even though her monstrosity blocked doorways or cabinets no matter where she was moved. Jade insisted she was welcome and totally not a disturbance. When hit by direct sunlight, her pearly hot glue beads gleamed, and the recycled CDs cast fractured triangles of green and purple on the tile floor. Thus, the favorite place to put her was by the window in the kitchen, half-blocking the entryway to the sunroom.

* * *

Greyland admitted himself to the hospital in early spring, six months after his baby cousin’s Baptism and a year and a half after Isaac had returned to town. He had an infection, and he made his wishes clear that he didn’t want to be put on the ventilator. So, they left him to rattle and gurgle in peace. He accepted morphine though, which made him quiet and drowsy. Isaac didn’t know if this was worse or better than him being alert and anxious. Isaac couldn't decide. He decided then, _not_ to decide. 

It snowed hard outside. “That weather’s something else, huh?” Isaac said. 

“Just _frightful_ ,” replied Greyland. 

There was enough space for Greyland and either Jade or Isaac to occupy the spot next to him. Right now, it was Isaac’s turn, and Jade sat in a chair nearby, alternating between talking on the phone and talking to the guys. Isaac looked up. No stars. His hip dug hard into the side rail. Greyland held his hand, squeezing it frequently, in a reassuring if not overly reiterative way.

Isaac, Jade, and a revolving door of family members always remained in the room. Greyland’s cousin Rafa and his parents stuck around most consistently. 

Isaac kept returning to Greyland’s first mention of Rafa. _My cousin, he plays jokes on me rather often... I don’t think it’s funny, but I suppose that’s part of the point._

Greyland urged them to boot up Animal Crossing, and so Isaac did. Isaac offered him the controller, but he waved it off, saying he only wanted to watch. He and his cousin both watched.

“Hack the tree, not the fence, Isey.”

“It’s not my fault the tree is so close to the fence. I’m not the one who planted it there,” Isaac said, eyeing Greyland, who smirked and said nothing.

“I’ve never heard you call him that,” said Rafa. “Do you really call him that?”

“Only when he’s being a friggin’ _tornado_ ,” Greyland replied sluggishly.

Isaac handed the controller out to him, then Rafa, to take. “Does anyone else want to volunteer? To be backseat driven? Because I’d sure like a turn.”

Both refused. 

“Aw, fuck. You pocketed the whole dresser, man,” said Rafa. “Tornado.”

“Get the—the things. The apples. Shake the tree.”

“I’m getting there. _Greysie._ ”

“You aren’t, you’re stuck in a conversation with Raymond.”

“Well, as he says, it’s our first meeting. I’m trying to be cordial,” said Isaac. 

“Quit chit-chatting and just get the apples,” said Rafa with a smirk.

“I’m not trying to backseat drive you,” said Greyland. “It’s _important_ , Isey.”

“Disgusting. I thought we buried that awful nickname,” Isaac said. He wished instantly to take back his wording when Rafa issued an explosive laugh-gasp.

Greyland looked over at him in the moment of excruciating silence that followed. Isaac’s stomach pitted in a horribly visceral way. Greyland, then Isaac, burst into laughter, and then into tears.

* * *

Rafa’s dad—Greyland’s Tio Antonio, who first broke the ice with Isaac through a conversation about Isaac’s brother’s shared name—ordered Chinese food for the five of them. Greyland said he didn’t want anything. Isaac volunteered to pick their order up. The cold air and the prickling wet snow did him good. When he returned though, the stuffy warmth of the building settled in his chest again.

Isaac offered up some of his broccoli. Greyland refused. “I’m good,” he said. Without asking he reached over to Rafa’s wonton strips and sans any warning, stuck them down Isaac’s shirt. 

Rafa brought his laptop and external disk drive, which plugged into the USB port not unlike Isaac’s external floppy disk drive. They watched a movie, _Guardians of the Galaxy_ —at which Rafa acted shocked to discover that neither of them had seen it before. It was Jade’s turn to lie next to Greyland, and so Rafa and Isaac sat shoulder to shoulder, craning their necks to see the screen. Jade’s sharp-toed boots stuck up motionlessly—the leather covering her thighs like wrinkly elephant skin. Greyland fell asleep sometime near the end. His drool created dark circles on the tiny flowers dotting her sleeve, and Jade patted his arm genially.

At about four in the morning, Rafa and his parents left to get some sleep. Jade’s face grew stonier and stonier through her struggle to keep awake. Isaac, a certified insomniac, had had plenty of practice, but even he was growing drowsy. 

Jade asked, “Are you sure you don't need to get some air?”

“No. I’m good,” Isaac replied.

“Okay,” said Jade. “Take a walk if you need one.”

Since Rafa, Antonio and Julia’s leaving, Jade and Isaac took turns leaving the room. Currently, Jade was buying food and coffee from the cafeteria. Greyland slept, as he had been for the past four hours. Isaac administered a rough-lipped kiss near his jaw and a “Love you, Greysie,” before taking a brief stroll around the floor.

He meandered over to the vending machine. If coffee alone couldn’t keep him awake, perhaps it’s cousin sugar could help. He punched in E5, the code for a Snickers bar. It was while he was out of the room that Greyland ended up actually passing away. 

Isaac found this out upon returning to the room and began to panic. Fortunately, Jade reentered not far behind him. “Don’t freak out,” she said roughly as she briskly passed through the doorway and stood shoulder-to-arm beside him. Then more gently, “Jane said something like this might happen.”

Isaac thought about his last words to Greyland, and felt what could only be described as visceral disappointment that they weren’t profound at all.

“I said, ‘love you’ before I left the room.” So cliche and banal—only the same thing each of them said every time they walked through a doorway at home. 

Jade laughed. “That’s appropriate, no?”

“Yeah.” That should have been obvious from the beginning. 

Soon much of the family filtered back in. As Greyland once feared, they formed what he once called a “sob mob” in the hallway of the unit, recounting his previous experience with the death of an older relative. Isaac now had a grim visual. As the sky and the city below grew increasingly, aggressively orange, Isaac stood beside Jade through many conversations conducted in rapid Spanish, not wanting to disappear on her. 

Rafa and Greyland’s aunt and uncle appeared too, after a few hours of sleep. This relieved Isaac and Jade of some responsibility. Isaac received many rigid hugs, with the occasional loaded slap on the back, the first of which came from Rafa.

* * *

Before climbing into bed, Isaac hesitated. 

Jade followed him in the bedroom, her scuffling slippers drowned out by his thoughts. “You’re not sleeping on the couch,” said Jade tuttingly. 

“Yeah. No.”

She left to change into her pajamas, and Isaac obediently got in. In the dark, Jade returned—at first just to peek in. Then, she shut the door behind her, and climbed in next to him. Breathing in the same smell. 

_You sleep with your Grandma?_ Isaac thought, and laughed, and knocked out for twelve hours.

* * *

The drawers on the right-hand side, those designated as Greyland’s, were already mostly empty. Months before, he had cleared out his clothes and many of his personal items—either donating them or giving them away. It was painful and uncomfortable to watch but as Greyland put it, it would be more painful if he left it for Jade and Isaac to do. The only clothes of Greyland’s now left in the house were the parts of his collection that he kept to wear, the bleached ones—and a few pieces he gave to Isaac. Isaac remembered the uncomfortable weekend when Greyland set about this project—all the folded clothes into grim piles on the bed.

“Okay, I’m ready for you. Anything on this side—” he gestured an imaginary line along Isaac’s side of the bed— “you can take.”

Not much of Greyland’s clothes would fit him. But he withdrew a few larger sweaters, and the yellow suspenders. He pointed to the hippie-style sunglasses with the purple lenses and the gold rims, which sat on the long dresser that was half Greyland’s, half his, now mostly his. “Can I take those?” Isaac asked sarcastically.

Without hesitation, Greyland fetched them for him. “Here you go.”

“Swedish Death Cleaning—I had to Google it,” Isaac explained later to Jade at the breakfast table. Isaac was back in his rental suit and Jade in her age-appropriate dress. “It’s not just a Greyland thing, it’s a real thing,” Isaac said. Then after: “Haha. I’m sort of glad I can still say that certain things are ‘Greyland things.’”

Jade smiled retisciently. “I think certain things are still allowed to be ‘Greyland things.’”

The funeral was held in St. Agnes Church. Isaac sat in a pew in the front, smushed between Jade and Jade’s son, where they dwelled on Greyland’s wonderfulness—acknowledging how sad the sob mob was but how happy his parents must be to finally have him back.

Tuning out the priest’s Bible reading queued another moment of visceral anger—present before he could stop it. Even if he hadn’t gone as far as to renounce it, Greyland didn’t like Christianity. He wouldn’t have wanted things that way, it wasn’t _him_. In fact, so many things were so perversely un-Greyland. Like that he wasn’t being given the environmentally sound natural burial in the dirt of the commune like he wanted. Or at least cremation—the next best thing, ecologically. It made him mad. He disappeared into this thought, let it suffocate him, until some part of the priest’s reading shattered the mist.

“He says, ‘Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.’ The Lord Almighty is with us.”

Isaac hadn’t been listening to the rest of it, and regretted that he hadn’t a clue what the context was. He looked to Jade. Bowed head, eyes closed, not paying him any attention.

He’d helped somewhat, with planning the wake. Greyland’s Tia Sylvie—Jade’s daughter—teamed up with Isaac to compile the photographs standing near the front of the chapel. Movie theater. Sunroom, light falling heavy on both the puzzle and the table. Museum of Natural History. Graduation. 

He didn’t particularly want to talk to any of the family members which he only vaguely knew, from the Baptism or similar functions. Isaac resorted to following Jade around, being in conversations beside her, answering questions when necessary and injecting his voice only when he felt brave.

Few among the lines of chairs were anything but family. Feeling their stares, he mulled over how unpopular among them he was.

Previously, Greyland had made sure to tell Isaac that he was not to ever feel like he wasn’t _a part of things._ These weren’t Greyland’s last words, of course, but they were some of the more profound ones. So he let himself let the ugly thought go.

One of the few non-Hispanic attendees was Louise from the Radio Shack, and Isaac approached her. She drew him in for a hug unexpectedly. 

“How’s working in the marketing business?” Isaac said lowly.

“Entry-level. So you know. It’ll get better,” she said. 

Looking over, he saw that a middle-aged Asian woman with dark wine colored lipstick was now in conversation with Jade. She, Isaac noticed, also wasn’t speaking to many of their relatives. 

Isaac politely bade Louise goodbye and returned to Jade’s side. The woman greeted him with a keen smile as she briefly looked into Isaac. She wore a large red rose broach with a plastic black wasp perched in between the petals.

This was Dr. Jane. 

She took a special gaze at Isaac, an inquiring, examining one, after approaching Jade. 

“I’m thinking of cooking a turkey tonight,” Jade said. Her black dress was short, with fuzz at the end which was floating off like little bits of down every time she sat. On the other hand, Jane looked as if she walked out of a film from the nineteen thirties—her small hat swooping low on her brow.

“You should do it,” Dr. Jane said to Jade, but she was looking at Isaac. “I certainly won’t complain...” She obviously felt comfortable enough inviting herself over.

“Cooking is a good way to keep busy,” Jade went on. “And we’d be glad to have you over.” She smiled at Isaac, and Dr. Jane looking him over in her examining way. Isaac managed a smile, but otherwise felt embarrassed. Now Jane knew for sure he had colonized their home. “Not tonight. I’ll be too tired to stand too long after dropping my keys in the bowl.”

Dr. Jane gave a guffaw, and said, “You let me know.” She let Jade and Isaac go shortly after that, to attend to the many others.

“I think we’d like that a lot,” Jade said to her, and looking at Isaac.

Isaac smiled wanly back, but the only thing he could think about was that he’d brought with him a floppy disk—the one overwritten with photos of Greyland on it, the one containing his E.E. Cummings poem—and had not long ago slipped it into Greyland’s suit pocket in the casket. Fully expecting this grand posthumous gesture to gift him a feeling of gloriousness—he was disappointed. The grand gesture hadn’t made him feel like he’d tied up any ends; it didn’t feel inevitable, or romantic. It didn’t feel like anything at all. In fact, it seemed silly now.

Isaac excused himself to the bathroom. Jade nodded at him in approval. Frustration rose inside him after needing to ask several people where to find it. It was a single stall, and he stared at his knees, feeling the sucking pressure in his chest rise, and the roundness in his throat swell, and he couldn’t breathe, a feeling Greyland had lived with his entire fucking life, and he sat on the toilet and cried silently. 

Noisy thoughts cycled quickly in the mist that occupied his clogged brain. The only coherent, liquid thought that trickled down the pane of his consciousness was that the vise was _back_ , and that it hurt. Mechanically, he sucked air through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. It made him dizzy and did nothing to clear the mist. Another liquid thought trickled down, and that was that he was handling it on his own, and that was _good_. A moment of guilt cracked over him. Would it have been better to invite Jade into his misery? No, he decided. She had her own to inhabit. He forgave himself for the moment of complacency, and ultimately decided he could handle this on his own. He always had.

Assaults from the vise attacked Isaac with ridiculous infrequency. But if he could just inhale deeply, despite the difficulty it posed, he could put an end to the nonsense. 

—another trickling thought pierced through the mist—that this was definitely the universe’s way of making Isaac feel how Greyland had always felt.

He could not think that. Not because it was not true—but because it made his chest clench tighter, and choked him even more severely, and pushed large fat tears from his sockets and couldn’t be dealt with.

An abrupt rapping seized the door, followed by a woman’s persecutory voice. In the privacy of the little room, he startled like an animal. 

His neck grew hot. _This was a men’s room!_ Or at least a family, a unisex or whatever— _not_ a women’s room. He held his gaze at the urinal for confidence—this was _a men’s room._

But the damage had already been done. His chest clenched one last petty time and now, so did his stomach. He slid to the floor just in time to throw up. 

After the violent crushing peaked then quelled into a quiet breathlessness, he cooled his face in the faucet stream and exited the restroom. 

Standing in wait outside the door was Rafa. His mother—Greyland’s Tia Julia—circled nearby. Her face held concern. First and foremost, Isaac looked back at the door. _Men’s._

Rafa’s hand landed on his back. “You okay? Do you need a glass of water?”

Isaac cleared his throat. Bile made fuzzy, dry spots on the roof of his mouth, and the roundness remained. “Yes,” he answered. 

Rafa nodded at Tia Julia, who stood in wait by the water tank.

* * *

The night of the wake, Rafa’s corner of the family arrived at the house with dinner, and Tia Sylvie the night after that. Presently, there seemed to be an organized effort to feed and check up on Jade (and Isaac) in something resembling shifts. Seamlessly Wednesday night rolled around, when Dr. Jane came over to pay Jade a visit. 

When Dr. Jane arrived, Isaac answered the door. Back in the kitchen, Jade engrossed herself in resetting the clock on the toaster oven, which she had recently unplugged so that she could move it to a different place across the room.

“It’s nice to see you again, Dr. Li,” greeted Isaac.

“You may call me Jane, if you like,” said Dr. Jane.

“Alright,” mumbled Isaac.

Jade paid her a hug upon her arrival. Isaac stood awkwardly aside. “What’s in there, pork roast?” Jade asked as Dr. Jane set a large pot on the stove to simmer.

“It’s pulled chicken, actually,” replied Dr. Jane. “It’s somebody else’s recipe, I wanted to run it by you.”

“Well, we’ve got the right person right here,” Jade said, smiling broadly at Isaac. “He’ll tell you what he _really_ thinks, not just what you want to hear—unlike Greyland.”

“Harsh critic, is he?” said Dr. Jane, smiling at Isaac, who couldn’t help but keep his head down. A bashful look crossed his face.

“Helpful giver of feedback,” corrected Jade, who massaged his shoulders from the chair beside him.

“Hm.”

“You’re a good kid. Don’t worry,” said Jade. “We were only teasing. He won’t accept the compliment, but he’s wonderful to have around. And not just because he’s going to help me move the refrigerator later.”

“You’re helping move the refrigerator?” asked Dr. Jane quizzically.

“I’ve been moving lots of stuff around,” said Jade sheepishly. “You know me.”

Moving furniture around when she was stressed was a habit of Jade’s. Things around the house were always changing places—something Jade could hardly keep up with in terms of remembering where things were but something she could not stop doing nonetheless. She had always wanted to move the refrigerator into a corner nook that seemed to be begging for a large square object to fit into it. 

“I’m changing the door also, aren’t I?”

Jade laughed and slapped him lightly on the arm. Her newly overly flattering nature was reminiscent of the patronizing one Greyland adopted at times. However, it hardly bothered him. “I ask if he can move the fridge and he says, ‘where to, and do you want the door to open to the left or to the right?’”

As if on cue, Isaac offered to clean up the plates, and the two women let him as they continued to talk. He squeezed past Dr. Jane and the refrigerator by the wall. She sat in a seat that was usually vacant, and so Isaac didn’t know that when he tried to squeeze past her with the plates, that he’d rammed right into Mary. 

His elbow stung funny, and Mary pitched wing-first through the doorway. His thumb sat in a swathe of barbecue sauce on Jade’s plate. On the carpet in the sunroom, Mary lay with her left wing lying separate from the rest of her. He felt Jade and Dr. Jane’s stares on his back—Jade had spoken too soon about him, he thought, and thought, and thought. There were no splintered bits of wood anywhere. In fact, the round peg that formed half of the joint between wing and body was now visible, which gave her the appearance of being not broken, but merely _dismantled._

He ran the dishes quickly over to the sink, washed his hands but didn’t dry them. Without looking at either woman, he scooped up Mary’s body and carried her to the bedroom. He fitted her gently back into her rightful place in the closet. He closed the sliding mirror, thinking about how these artifacts of Greyland were all that was left of him, that they were numbered, that they were precious, and that they’d been now rendered a non-renewable resource.


End file.
